Short Story: Twenty Minutes

I wrote “Twenty Minutes” back in the summer of 2011, in the month after the event (& aftermath) that inspired not only this piece, but also “A Kiss in the Rain” and my most popular poem “New York Rain.” “Twenty Minutes” is a study in severe anxiety, similar to “Final Word,” but this one is pure horror. Much darker. It was written for the SNM Horror Mags call for stories with Obsession as the theme. It was the #2 story for the month, July 2011, and subsequently appeared in their anthology Bound By Blood IV: Scarlet Sunset.

Siren’s Call Publications also featured “Twenty Minutes” in their “2013 Women in Horror Month” issue (#7) of The Siren’s Call.

This story, as well as eleven other short stories, angsty poetry, and relationship essays can also be found in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

It contains erotic adult content.

I hope you enjoy it.


Why hasn’t he written? It’s been over 24 hours, and a text message just takes a few moments. Isn’t he thinking about me? Just yesterday he said he loved me, well, almost said it. He said he feels a great deal of love for me. That’s the same thing. Right? Surely his feelings haven’t changed overnight. I mean how could they?

No matter what, I’m not writing first this time. Let him miss me. That’s what I’ll do. Absence. Heart fonder, and all that. Sure. That’s what I’ll do.

Still no text. At least I waited ten minutes this time. I’ll try for twenty now. What can I do for twenty minutes to pass the time? No. Not look at his picture. Not daydream about when we meet again. No! Not remember the night we shared. What else can I do for twenty minutes?

Checking email. Nothing.

Refresh. Nothing.

Refresh again. Is the Internet connected?

Visit Google Maps.

Yep. Connected.


Okay. Chill. Everything is okay. This is just your fear talking. Everything is okay. How could so much change after just a day? It hasn’t changed. Everything is just fine.

Nothing new on Twitter. Perhaps an innocuous DM, just to see if he’s okay.

No. No. No. No.

Okay. Focus. What can you do that doesn’t remind you of him? Shower! Yes! I’ll take a shower. That’ll kill at least ten minutes, right?

Gasp! New email. Damn, spam. Not from him. You never hear from him this time of the day. No. You don’t need a Xanax. You can do this. You just need to keep busy is all. 

It’s just been 28 hours. Nothing will have changed in that time. He’s still here with you, but he won’t be if you freak him out. Don’t scare him away. You know this is just your fucked up brain chemicals at work. It’s just the way it is.

Still no DM. I wonder what he’s doing. I hope he’s had a good day. Maybe he needs me! Maybe something’s happened. Maybe a DM from me would cheer him up.

Go for a walk, that’s what. I’ll just go for a walk then shower afterward. That’ll kill an hour, right? Then I can look again.

29 hours. Nothing. Perhaps he’s already seen how crazy I am, and he’s changed his mind. That’s just ridiculous. You’ve been very careful to keep it to yourself. Besides, it’s just like this at first, when everything is so new and uncertain. You have to find a way to gain confidence. He’s crazy about you. That’s obvious. You know how your brain works. It’s not your fault, but it’s not his responsibility to reassure you every twelve-fucking-hours either. He has a life. A job. He’s got things to do rather than just think of you all day.

It wouldn’t hurt to check his Twitter account. Right? Just a quick look.

He hasn’t tweeted since last night! See. He’s just busy is all. He’s not even on Twitter. Maybe his phone died.

This is insanity. Take a chill pill. Yeah, maybe a Xanax.

No! I don’t need a fucking pill to be okay. I’m fine. I can do this.

Fuck! Who the fuck is @MsSexyPants? This first time on Twitter today, and he’s talking to @MsSexyPants? What the Fuck? Although it is public, but how do I know he’s not DM’ing her, too? He might’ve been DM’ing her all day! He might’ve been fucking her all day! No. Her profile says she lives in Seattle and the tweet was harmless enough. Just a reply on a funny quote is all. After all, you talk to people all day on Twitter. Flirt, even.

There’s nothing to it.

Why doesn’t he write?

Oh! New DM!

Fucking Spam. Block. Report Spam.

Everything is fine. Yes. Maybe a Xanax. If you need it you need it. Don’t fuck this up this time. It’ll be okay. People just need more space than you do. They just need more time. Okay. Xanax.

36 hours. Nothing. At least I was able to get some work done. See? Xanax helps. It’s okay. If you need it, you need it. It’s getting late. If I don’t hear from him in the next hour, I won’t today. That’s okay. I’ll just go to bed early. Sleeping helps. Unconscious is good.

Oh! New DM! Don’t look. You know it’s not from him. Just don’t look and read or something. You can’t keep being so available. The less attention you pay to him, the more he’ll pay to you. Right?

So I looked. Sue me. It’s okay because it was from him!

“Thought of you all day. Drinks?”

He thought of me all day! See! Nothing to worry about. Should I reply right away? I don’t just want to be a booty call. He cares more than that, right? I’ll wait like twenty minutes, then reply. What can I do for twenty minutes?

Fuck it.


“Pick you up in 20.”

Now I know what to do for twenty minutes! What should I wear? Oh! My hair is awful. What does he see in me?


“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. You look great, too.” The butterflies are back. I should’ve eaten something. Oh! His lips are so soft, and his tongue. Mmmmm.

I press into him and the kiss deepens. He’s delicious, and I just can’t get enough.

“You know,” I whisper into his mouth, “We don’t have to go out at all.”


I feel his lips pulled back into a smile as I kiss him again. Our tongues mingle and the heaviness between my legs is aching for him. Full, yet empty at the same time. His erection is pressed against my hip, and all I can think about is his cock. I need him inside me. Right. Fucking. Now.

My eager hand slides up his jeans and caresses the bulge beneath. He moans his pleasure, and I swallow the sound in another hungry kiss.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says between kisses.

Now I smile. See? He’s into me, after all.

Our passion mounts, and we move as one away from the front door into the living room. He lowers me down on the couch, and he lays between my legs. His strong arms prop him up over me, and he grinds his erection into my hips as he kisses me; his tongue darting around in my mouth.

Driving me wild knowing that his cock will be doing the same thing before long.

In fact. I can’t wait. Pushing him off me and back onto the sofa, I reposition myself for tasting him. My hands unfasten his jeans and I chance a look up. The smile on his face tells me he knows exactly what I have in mind. I reach inside and grasp him, releasing him with one hand as the other pulls his jeans down over his hips. He helps free himself with eager hands.

Fully erect and gorgeous, I bend over and lick all around the tip while snugly grasping his shaft, and I hear his gasp. With my tongue still touching the velvety helmet I look up at him watching me, allowing him to get this picture full in his mind before continuing. My tongue traces down the length of him and then back up again, wetting him for my love. Hungry for him, I plunge my mouth down over his cock and touch the base with my lips, then slowly pull back, flicking my tongue back and forth along the underside of his shaft as do I.

He lets me devour him in this way until his excitement has him moving with me, urging me on. And this is precisely when I stop. I slide my jeans over my full hips, and he tugs my blouse over my head. He turns to face me, and pulling my bra aside, his mouth finds my nipples, teasing them with his tongue. Sucking. Swirling. Nibbling.

I unfasten my bra and let it fall to the side, allowing him full access to my breasts. He caresses one while pleasing the other with his mouth. His other hand slides up the inside of my leg. I can feel my juices drip onto my thigh just before his fingers begin massaging my clit. Sliding along my moistness, he rubs me until I come, soaking his hand with my orgasm. This seems to make him very happy, both my nectar and my screams of delight. He spreads my lips and eases a finger inside. Then two. Fingering me slowly, then picking up speed.

I hold onto his shoulders as he brings me again, but I want more. Stepping to the side, his fingers slip out of me, but I never stop touching him. Even this far is too far apart. I move closer to him and straddle him there on the couch, easing myself onto his engorged cock. So slowly. Watching the wonder on his face and the love in his eyes as we become one.

We move together slowly at first, never breaking eye contact. Kissing and watching each other and then kissing again, but soon the movement becomes more urgent. My pace quickens, and he thrusts into me, meeting my motion with his fervent hips. He puts his arm around my waist and lifts me up, turning me over onto my back. Never removing himself from me.

He pulls his knees up close to me and holds one of my legs up as he begins to thrust deeper and faster. Each push into me more determined than the last. Faster and faster. I grab a handful of the fluffy couch and scream in ecstasy, and he doesn’t relent. The sounds of my pleasure only heightening his as he plunges into me again and again and again, until he finally comes himself. And with his final force, he cries out as well.

Breathing heavy. Eyes amazed. Hands clutching.

He relaxes onto my breast, and I stroke his hair.

I can feel him still inside me, gradually shrinking.

Yet we are one.

“Wow,” he breathes.


“I mean. Wow.”

“Yeah. That was amazing.”

He pulls out of me and I feel empty without him there. Cold. I reach out to him, but he’s already relaxed against the back of the couch, catching his breath. He feels too far away and I want him back inside me.

Filling me.

Completing me.

He looks at his watch.

“Oh shit,” he says. “I can’t believe it’s already so late.”

So late? We were supposed to go for drinks? We wouldn’t have even been served yet. It’s only been like twenty fucking minutes. Or the other way around. What does he mean so late?

“Do you have to go?” I ask, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“Not yet, but soon.”

I swallow hard. He feels so far away. How can he be so far away after we had just been so close? How can he talk about leaving? I want to fall asleep in his arms. I want to feel secure beside him. I want to wake up beside him and fuck him again.

“Gotta beer?”

“Um.” I don’t really like beer, so I don’t keep any in the house. “Wine?”


I get up and walk to the kitchen. My heart swells, thinking of the romantic evening we’ll have. If only it weren’t summer, I could light the fire. Talking. Laughing. Sharing. Drinking until our passion takes us over again. When I return with the bottle and two glasses, he’s already dressed.

He must’ve noticed the disappointment on my face.

“Everything okay?”

“Um. Of course. Wine?”

“Actually, I really should go.”

“Okay. It’s still rather early, no? We could still go out for that drink if you’d like.”

“Maybe tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” I set the glasses and bottle down on the side table and reach for my jeans.

“No,” he says, taking me into his arms. “I want to remember you just like this. Beautiful and naked. Thank you for tonight. This was just amazing. Tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you.”


“You mean a lot to me. You know that, right?”

I smile and my heart swells again. “I do. And you. I –. I mean, you mean a lot to me, too.”

He kisses me then.



Then looks deep into me and smiles.



Why hasn’t he written? It’s been over twelve hours, and a text message just takes a few moments. Isn’t he thinking about me? Especially after last night! Such intimacy we shared. Don’t I mean anything to him?

Just twenty more minutes. What can I do for twenty minutes before I check Twitter again. Just one DM. It only takes a few moments. Aren’t I worth even a few seconds?

What the fuck can I do for twenty minutes?

Alex. Yes. I’ll talk to Alex! He always cheers me up. He’s always there for me. Just like a good friend should be.


“Alex? Do you have a minute? I want your opinion on something. See, there’s this guy. A new guy, and I really like him. And I think he really likes me too. I mean, he might even love me. The sex is great. Really fucking great, but he always leaves just right after. I mean, like almost every time. He’s not just using me for sex, right? He says that I mean a great deal to him and that he feels a lot of love for me, so it’s okay, right?”

“Please let me go,” Alex whimpers.

“Did you hear me? What do you think? Do you think he really loves me?”

“Please. I’ll do anything. I won’t tell anybody and I won’t leave you. Ever. I promise.”

“Yeah. That’s what Todd said, too. And I believed him, but then he left straight away. Much harder getting him back. How are you today, Todd?”

“Todd is dead you crazy bitch! Todd’s been dead for a week now!”

“That was rather mean. You think I’m a bitch? But, you said you cared, too. You said you’d never leave me, and then you did. I’m just making sure you keep your word is all. Making you a man of integrity.”


“Anyway. It’s been over twelve hours, and I haven’t gotten even a text message yet. But I’m not a guy, so I don’t get how you all think. You’re a guy, Alex. Do you think twelve hours is too long to wait after sharing such intimacy? I mean, he should want to spend every waking moment with me, right? That’s what love is. Don’t you think, Alex?”


Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed “Twenty Minutes.” It, along with many other stories, articles, and poetry, is available in my collection Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection.

I’ve begun to serialize my teen Steampunk romance The Zombies of Mesmer, and as soon as people start reading and commenting on it, I’ll continue. Find more of my work on this blog, in several publications, and on Amazon.

~ by omgrey on July 21, 2013.

2 Responses to “Short Story: Twenty Minutes”

  1. I like it, but if you want feedback (hope you do, or else you can delete my comment — i dont want to be disrespectful to you), it makes the protagonist sound too crazy (at the end), as if there’s something wrong with her, rather than with the males (including her friends, at the end) who set her up.

    • Agreed.

      That wasn’t the original ending. The editor of SNM Horror needed it to be *more horrific,* so I turned it into proper horror with that ending. She is insane. The way she’s been treated has made her insane, and she’s turned it around, making those men stay true to their word. That they’ll never leave.

      This was written before I truly recognized how much damage men like that do overall, and I regret that this story perpetuates the myth that women are crazy. Truly, I do. After I came to terms with what happened to me in November 2010, May 2011, and February 2012, my stories have a drastically different tone.

      During this period, I wrote a lot about infidelity and threats, like “Final Word,” inspired by something The Writer threatened me with if I told anyone about that night in November 2010, and “Duped,” inspired by The Musician’s infidelity and cruelty.

      At the time, I thought I was crazy. I believed what these men told me and what society would have me believe. I didn’t see their abuse for what it was until I was quite distanced from it and others, including professionals, started pointing it out. Now, after a few years and rape recovery therapy, I can see it’s all part of what contributed to Complex PTSD, this kind of treatment, deception and exploitation, and sexual assault/rape by many men over the past two decades (not to mention abuse at the hands of my step-father before that).

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