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Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Writing Prompt 4/14/10: What's In A Name

By Marilyn Friedman

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Writing Prompt: Write for 10 minutes about the origin of your name or write a story about a character that bears your "stripper" name! This is how you build your "stripper" name:

First name: Name of your childhood pet

Last name: Name of the street that you grew up on

For instance, my stripper name is "Muffin Crawford." So I'll write a story about her. Have fun with it!

Comment on this blog: Tell me a story about the origin of your name or write a story that involves the character that bears your "stripper name! You could win a free class!


Writing Pad said...

Muffin Crawford was new to the stripper lifestyle. Her real name was Sarah Crawford, and she was an accountant. She had a CPA, a scientific calculator almost as big is her head, and a closet full of pin striped button down shirts.

Sarah decided that she was sick of the long hours, her three hour round trip commute, and her abusive boss. She had worked until 11 p.m. the night before, and the tyrant had actually thrown a stapler at her head. Luckily, she had ducked before the Swingline made contact.

The next morning, she decided that she would no longer go by Sarah. She was Muffin. She dyed hot pink strinks in her long, brown hair and bought a pleather, boobless mini-dress at a store on Melrose. Then, she lined her lips with black and walked down to The Playpen (which was only 3 blocks from her home) and applied for a job. The manager gave her C cup breasts and hourglass figure a hungry look over and agreed.

Now you can catch her Tuesday through Friday nights at the Playpen. If you ask really nicely, Muffin will give you a private lap dance. If you offer her enough money, she'll also help you with your taxes.

Kelly said...

"She lives up to her name."
"That she does. Amazingly so."
"JESUS! The girls a gusher."
"Hey Matt?"
"Yes sir?"
"Do you need a towel, you know for your face?"
"Well you are the director, do you want me to stay down here?"
"Just a minute Matt. What do you think Phil?"
"I think I have a star on my hands George. Tell him to keep eating, I'm gonna produce a whole series of flicks based on that girls pussy alone."
"Alright. Yeah Matt we want some more juice so keep eating and get your fingers in there.What about that towel?"
"Nah, I'm just gonna get messier."
"You want some water?"
"No thanks, I've got plenty to drink here."
"Alright, have at it."
"Here I go, down below."
"What about me?"
"Sorry honey, your just mesmerizing us with that skill we kinda forgot about you."
"Aww.....thanks George, but if you want me to keep it flowing I need to stay hydrated."
"Of course, of course, can we get some water for Chrissy?"
"You are amazing Chrissy!"
"Oh Phil. You know it just comes naturally."
"You mean you just cum naturally."
"I sure do!"
"Now Chrissy honey does this just happen with oral?"
"Oh no Phil, I'll cum all over his dick if you want."
"With the same intensity?"
"It's a gift."
"JESUS! Did you hear that George?"
"I gotta get a shot of that! Hey Matt come on up for some air,we're gonna change shots."
"Alright Mr. Director, I think I'll take that towel now."
"I'll say, look at that shiny face. Go get hard, it's time to fuck her."
"I've got it George!"
"What's that Phil?"
"The name of the series. We'll call it Lady Gushers starring that sexy slut Chrissy Squirts. What do you think Chrissy, ready to be a star?"
"God gave me the talent and momma gave me the name."

Writing Pad said...

Kelly--Oh my! I love your story. "Chrissy Squirts" is a great name. I love that you tell the whole story in dialogue, that she has a special talent, and the repetition of the towel.


Julie said...

Buttons San Bruno walked fast, adjusting the strap of her big black bag. It felt odd to be outside in so early in the day, among the suited masses with their coffee cups and their briefcases, the moms with babies in trendy strollers, the students perpetually attached to white wires, hurrying to class. On the rare occasion that she left the house before noon, Bee (a nickname given to her by a long-ago friend) always felt out of place. She could barely remember a time when her world wasn’t shrouded in darkness, carried along by the deep thump of the bass, swirling lights and the taste of vodka on her lips. As she rounded a corner, Bee stopped short at a red light, catching her reflection in the glass wrapped around a skyscraper.

It had been nearly twenty years since she had decided to finance her college education by stripping. She’d changed her name-Meredith had never been sexy enough-and taken on a new identity. It had been easy to get a gig after that, she had the looks and the body, and she cinched the deal with her act. It was simple, a boxy men’s blazer from Goodwill, a lacy garter belt, fishnets and the highest stilettos she could find. “Buttons unbuttoned.” In the days of "Wall Street" and "Miami Vice," she was a hit. Bee loved having a secret life to reveal at just the right moment. She loved the nonstop party. She loved the attention. But somewhere in the last two decades, the Art History degree she’d worked so hard to earn had gone by the wayside and she had gotten stuck.

The crowd moved off the curb and Bee followed along, wondering where the years had gone. At nearly forty, she had nothing to show for the ambition that had pushed her under the flashing lights in the first place. Well, that was about to change. Bee slid her phone out of her pocket, glanced at the time and picked up her pace. Late, as usual. Approaching a wide staircase, she took the steps two at a time, glad to be wearing her comfortable sneakers instead of heels for once. She walked through the wide doorway and took the elevator to the third floor. Passing closed doors on both sides of the hallway, she slipped silently into a dimly lit room, where a man sat, naked. In one fluid motion, she put her bag on the floor, pulled out a heavy book and slid into a chair. Bee looked around the room, took a deep breath and began to sketch.

sarah said...

It should be a hot month for Tiger Bellevue. After all, his namesake is all over the tabloids for having cheated on his wife with over a dozen women. Tiger Bellevue’s cache should be worth at least a few more lap dances than the usual at Mac’s Men Emporium. But times are tough, and the bridesmaid parties and teacher retirement to-do’s aren’t coming in like they used to. Only the occasional “naughty” sorority groups and lonely single ladies have been coming in to see Tiger and his associates flex their well ripped abs. At the rate this month was going, Tiger would be making more money at McDonalds…but he’ll persist. He enjoys showing off his muscles and making women giggle and scream. It’s all a result of having been a total nerd in high school. He was that kid who sat by himself at lunch and mumbled into his tuna sandwich. To be an object of desire was his life long dream, and he had made it. Well had at least made it to the corner of 5th and Main.

To make some extra money, Tiger gets a job shelving books at the local library. His friend Jerry, a narcoleptic children’s librarian, helps him get the job. It’s easy work, and Tiger enjoys flipping through the wide variety of self- help books up on the second floor. “What Color is Your Parachute” catches his eye one afternoon while shelving “career” books. Indeed, what is the color of Tiger’s parachute? It isn’t the color of a nine to five job, that was for sure. And it isn’t the color of a CPA, an MBA or a BFA. So what is it? Tiger feels for sure that if he can just unlock this book’s secrets, he can also unlock the secret to using his abs and sexual prowess to make more money than any afternoon ladies luncheon lapdance.

Erin said...

Goldie Bona Terra was a bonafide stripper extraordinaire. No one could touch her once she was near a pole. She had unspeakable talents, and when she was onstage, it was like dynamite had a purpose. It was such a rush too, she had an unstoppable attraction to stripping. She could've been a firefighter, Goldie thought, as she whipped herself around the pole, practicing before the club opened its doors. Rescued kittens from trees and little old ladies from burning buildings. But instead, thank goodness, she was a stripper.

Writing Pad said...

Julie--I LOVE this story! I love the sensory details: "the deep thump of the bass, swirling lights and the taste of vodka on her lips." I love her act, “Buttons unbuttoned," and I LOVE the end--very surprising and satisfying!


Writing Pad said...

Sarah--I loved your story! I especially love the depth of your character, that he had been a total nerd in high school who "mumbled into his tuna sandwich" and that it was his life long dream to be an object of desire. I love that he ends up shelving books at the library and that he likes looking through the self-help books! So entertaining!


Writing Pad said...

Erin--Great story! I loved how talented Goldie Bona Terra was! That she was like "dynamite had a purpose." I also love the image of her practicing around the pole before the club opened it's doors. Thanks for posting!


Roland said...

Look at this guy. Hasn't taken his little bug eyes off my crotch since he walked in here. I've got a bad feeling about this turd. Hopefully he asks for someone else. God, none of my regulars are here. Fucking punk-ass L.A. flakes. I hate them all. I hope their dicks fucking rot off and they die of an infected ball sack wound. And then I hope they leave all their money to me in their wills.
Oh god here he comes. What honey? My name? Cathy. Yeah I know it's not a stripper name. What? yeah the music's really loud in here. That's so I don't have to hear your pathetic attempts at humor and charm, fuckhead. A private? For you, six hundred dollars. Yes I'm deadly serious. What am I going to do to you? Well, first I'm going to get you really, really hard. Then I'm going to cut your dick off with a fish knife and shove it down your throat. I know, it's a special service. Don't worry, I can't hear what you're saying either. Just follow me downstairs to the basement, honey. Just follow me.

Mary Lorraine said...

My mother was set on keeping the tradition. Your first born is named after a grandparent on each side. My father's mother was named Mary Ellen, while my mother's mother was Layla Lorraine. So this firstborn, a little girl, would be named Ellen Lorraine. Unfortunately she came too early, and back then care for premature babies was not what it is today. The doctors told my mother that she would never get out of that incubator, never speak, never have emotions. My mother pulled the plug, buried her first born, and cried for weeks. She eventually did have healthy children, but it wasn't until her last born, that she decided to try the tradition again. Still wanting to honor her mothers name, and her mother in laws, Mary Lorraine was born in November of 1981.

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