Stan Prager
Bio
Historian, tech expert, writer.
Stories (4)
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Wordy Weekend
"We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin." Frank glanced away from the road to Michelle in the seat beside him just at the very moment that she read that line, the very first sentence in the first chapter of the novel he had worked on feverishly the last several weeks. The sun dappled across her long fingers holding the manuscript, and danced just under her eyebrows, knit in concentration, and upon her pretty, upturned nose. His gaze shifted over the wheel again, but soon drifted back, taking all of her in at that sharp angle, lingering perhaps too long for safety’s sake but yet unable to resist observing her. There was something about watching her reading the words he had written that unusually aroused him.
By Stan Prager3 years ago in Fiction
A Package on Her Special Day
There were only two buildings in what was considered the town of Cedar Hills, each simple wood structures painted white with an evergreen trim. The one with the steeple was the Presbyterian Church that according to the Appalachian Trail guide had the distinction of once being a stop on the Underground Railroad. The other building was a United States Post Office.
By Stan Prager4 years ago in Fiction
Mr. Mason's Coming
“Mr. Mason’s coming!” Jimmy yelled down from the perch on the roof where he spent most of the summer when he wasn’t sleeping or fishing. It was a mystery why he liked being on the roof so much but everyone had pretty much given up trying to talk him down. Even Mama, who used to worry out loud that he would somehow fall and break his neck, now handed him up pieces of pie through the upstairs back bedroom window just as if she was serving him from the sideboard.
By Stan Prager4 years ago in Fiction
Rorie's Locket
“Rorie’s Locket” by Stan L. Prager I noticed Rorie limping again because I was watching her step around the scattered stones and rotting trunks at the banks of the little stream. I wasn’t looking for her feet or her limp but rather for snakes. She was terrified of snakes but still she rarely watched her feet when she was down here with the filter pump, crouched at the edge of the water. I also liked to watch her ass. Rorie had a fine ass. It was dark and cool here, out of the sun, and I watched Rorie’s ass while she used steady, rhythmic strokes on the pump until we had two liters of reasonably safe drinking water.
By Stan Prager5 years ago in Filthy
