JANE'S SEX LIFE
I was twelve when he first touched me. Not a father, not a protector—just a predator in a uniform. I told my aunt. I begged her to believe me. She looked at me like I was the one who broke her marriage. They sent me away like I was trash. Now I’m twenty-two, living in London, surviving on the edge of pleasure and pain. Men want to love me. I let them inside—but never close enough to hurt me again. My body remembers what my mind tries to forget.The hotel room reeks of cheap cologne and last night’s mistakes. I don’t remember his name—just the way he flinched when I didn’t respond. Again. Always again. My phone buzzes: ‘You’ve been selected for the Women in Resilience Forum.’ A laugh escapes me, sharp and broken. Resilience? I survive because I don’t feel anything anymore.
Then I see the photo attached to the email. Him. Smiling in full dress uniform. Officer of the Year. My stomach twists. He’s back. And this time, I have proof—a voice memo from ten years ago, buried in an old MP3 player I just found.
But who would believe me now? The system protected him then. Why would it listen now?
My finger hovers over the delete button. Erase the file. Erase him. Erase me. Or… forward it to someone. Anyone.
King Patrick
works: 11
Sex Life
I tell myself it’s the last time every time I see him. James waits in that same apartment, shirtless, eyes burning with that old fire—the one I never escaped. My husband Chadwick trusts me, loves me, raises our daughters like they’re his own. But I’m not free. I’m pulled back to James, again and again, my body betraying everything I’ve built. It’s not love. It’s hunger. A craving deeper than guilt, stronger than vows. And each time I go, I lose another piece of myself.
CRIMSON SILK & STOLEN HEARTS
I used to trade nights for cash, my body a currency in a world that never valued me. Then Alex walked into my life—steady, kind, real. For the first time, I wanted more than survival. But the past doesn’t let go easily. The people I owe are coming, and now they want to use him against me. I have to choose: run and lose everything we’ve built, fight and risk it all, or surrender and become their pawn again.
CURSED VAMPIRE
I’m not a monster—at least, not by choice. I was born human, lived clean, died once, and woke up thirsty. They call me Johnny now, though I don’t remember giving it out. Every night after my shift at the morgue, I feed. Not because I enjoy the pain, but because the hunger never stops. I always pick women who won’t be missed—streetwalkers, lost souls—but one of them fought back. She shouldn’t have survived. She shouldn’t have remembered anything. But she ran, bleeding and broken, into the arms of the police. And now, even if she can’t name me… I know she feels me still. If I don’t find her first, the city will burn with what I am.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.