What we found (M/F story)

"Have you found anything interesting?" Jacob asked as he opened the thirty-fourth box of the day.

Jacob and his colleague Anne were teachers in one of the oldest schools in the county. Some of the rooms in the basement had not been used in decades, and the principal wondered if some of them could be cleaned up and used again. Unfortunately, most of them had been filled with clutter, which meant that someone had to go through the room and throw out everything that was no longer needed. Jacob and Anne were the only two that volunteered.

Jacob suggested to Anne that they should keep an eye out for anything unusual, funny, or interesting while cleaning, to provide a bit of entertainment. "You'll always find something old and fun in places like this," he said. "Just you wait." Anne knew he was a bit of an oddball, but he could be quite charming.

"I haven't found anything in particular. How about you?" Anne replied as looked around for another box to place on the table.

"I found this. Interesting enough for you?" When she turned around, Jacob was holding an old cane which had probably been hanging in a wardrobe. He grabbed the handle and swung it through the air a few times, smiling to himself at the whistling sound. "Brings back memories."

Trading chores (M/F & F/F story)

"Stacy, I want you to mow the lawn on the southern side of the house. Jane, you can paint the fence on the western side."

Stacy and her cousin Jane, both at the end of their teens, were spending a few weeks with their uncle in his house in the country. The tall, broad man could be kind and generous if he wanted, but he also made sure they helped him around the house - and there were consequences for anyone caught slacking.

"Aw, come on, Uncle Robert," Jane complained. "That will take all day! It's such a nice, sunny day - I want to relax!"

"It will only take two or three hours - you can relax afterward. The sun's not going anywhere."

"But I hate painting," Jane replied sullenly.

"We'll switch tasks, then," Stacy said. "You prefer mowing over painting, right? I don't."

Jane's face lit up at that, but Uncle Robert shook his finger. "No trading chores, either. You're not just here to relax - your parents haven't taught you proper maintenance, and these are skills you'll need in the future. If you trade chores, you'll be missing that lesson."

Curfew (F/fF story)

When I was nineteen, I stayed as a foreign exchange student in the home of an English woman named Janet Travers. She had a sixteen-year-old daughter, Suzie, a short, cute, red-headed girl who had the same taste in clothes, music, and films as me. She also played a lot of video games, while I spent more time reading books, but the two of us rapidly became good friends – in fact, we acted like sisters.

A few weeks into my stay, I decided to head out to the pub to have a drink, make new friends – maybe flirt with boys. Suzie accompanied me, and her mother told us we had to be back before eleven.

At the pub, I was having a really good time, and when Suzie nudged me and said that it was now half past ten and we should think about heading home, I told her that she was worrying needlessly. Neither of us had school in the morning, and I was having a really good time. I was also enjoying a very good beer which I'd already forgotten the name of (I'd bought Suzie a Fanta), and didn't want to end the evening.

"But my mother said we had to be back by eleven, and I don't want to be punished," she told me anxiously.

"But you're almost an adult. Don't tell me you think your mother will ground you at this age!"

"Not exactly," she said, but didn't elaborate further.

Stress and attitude (M/F story)

Lizzie looked down on her stomach, pulling at it to see if there was any fat she could get rid of. There was, she concluded grimly. She still didn't look like the girls in the magazines. She had a feeling she never would.

She had gone out running before breakfast every day this week, and she really wanted to see the changes. But there was still that little strip of unnecessary fat to get rid of.  She made it back home, panting for air. She was exhausted. Good. That meant she was giving it her best.

When she got inside, her boyfriend, Rob, was setting the breakfast table, lighting up as he saw her. "Good morning, Lizzie," he said. "I figured you'd be back soon. Hard workout today?"

She scowled at him. He didn't need to run like she did. No one she knew did.

He sighed. "Let's try that again. I say 'good morning', so you say …"

"I'm going back to bed, Rob," she said, brushing past him.

"You don't need to be rude about it," he told her, his gentle voice containing a very clear threat. "I expect at least a token effort at being civil, even in the morning."

"Go fuck yourself," she snapped.