Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Notes - The Mill

That's when he notices me. He rests his hand on mine but I know it is so my cleavage stays tucked around his arm. His blue eyes swallow me and his attention engulfs me. Suddenly it is just us two in the late night jazz club.

I would not have even noticed Jim staggering out if Lynne had not lingered a bit too long and a bit too close as she left. It almost felt like she had expected Sam to leave with them. Not necessarily with me along was my impression.

Friday, September 11, 2015

Notes - Pass Around Joy

The ride home with the Nanny was indeed frosty. Not only since I had driven there with the windows rolled down to air out the spacious double couch design of the Bonneville hoping that the scent of other women and male splooge would be whisked away on the wind. Now with the heater on the atmosphere within was still frosty.

“So that guy must be used to giving their Nannie’s a ride home.” I said sheepishly.

“No. I am their first nanny.” she said coldly, adding “They had an Au Pair before me.”

“An oh pair of what?” I asked trying to weasel my way through with humor.

Au Pair. A. U.  P. A. I. R. silly.” The Nanny giggled after a brief attempt not to be thawed. “Some foreign chick that lived in and cared for the kids.” she concluded.

“Cozy.” Was all that I could say as I imagined a foreign floozy in the family home.

“Maybe too cozy.” The Nanny added cryptically.

Not cryptically enough as the tableau of the wife looking anxiously after the hubby and the Nanny out the window as they headed for his car when I arrived. The plot was thickening.

I glanced over and noticed just how hot she looked in her Nanny uniform. Especially since I knew what this rather prim and proper garb obscured. I am sure her middle aged male client had noticed the same. I knew her female client knew.

No generation gap there.

As the Bonneville cut through the frosty night the Nanny curled up next to me in he front seat and place her head on my shoulder just where Beverly had cuddled an hour earlier. Only the Nanny had shorter, lighter, and certainly better maintained coiffer than the Bev.

“I know it’s late, but can we go to your place for a bit.” She cooed” Maybe moke -a joint.” she said in mock baby talk stoner jargon we had adopted.

“I can do better than that.,” as I pulled one out of my pocket and pushed the car cigarette lighter in. As the smoke wafted through the cabin I knew my scent and betrayal trail had been covered.

Friday, August 21, 2015

Notes-The Mill

One look at the photograph taken in the early morning does not do the story justice. There I was. There was Jim. There was Lynn also on the far side of me. Sam was front and center, as he likes it, with me peering around him leaning on the bar. There was my cleavage pressing into Sam's arm. I had his bicep in my boobs grasp.That was the night I got what I had longed for. This night also drove home the words, “be careful what you wish for”.

My frustration had reached new heights that very day. Why is it the men I do not want peering at my breasts are always leering, while the man I want to show them off to would always speak to me eye to eye. I had never even caught Sam sneaking a peek. What I did not realize is just how sneaky he really was. But he is a man. Now he is my midnight Sam.

Friday, August 14, 2015

Notes - Pass Around Joy

Parked in the forest preserve with Beverly and I in the front seat, Reno and Joy in the back, while The Nanny was waiting impatiently at her work place for me to pick her up after theater practice.


I don't know why I always do this.


Well. Yes I do.


I fell in love way too young.

I stayed in love way too young.


Yet I wanted to partake of the strange and varied fruits that were out in the world.


Few were stranger or unusual as Beverly.


Still fewer were as bountiful as Joy.

There was much thrashing, smacking, and gnashing going on in the deep pool of blackness behind the front seat of my 1966 Pontiac Bonneville. Meanwhile I was awash in the moist resplendence and tossing throes between Beverly’s cheeks and tongue.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Notes-The Mill

I used to feel bad for some of the poor dears who became flustered when I bestowed my bounty on them. The gift of my big beautiful girls. I could always tell the ones who were accustomed to a thin strapped single clasped bra. Some were even foolish enough to search the front for release. Sweat would form on their dear flustered brows when faced with my full metal four clasp behind the back brassiere regalia.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Notes - Pass Around Joy

I put on side one of “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd and watched approvingly as the Nanny sprawled out on the floor level mattress with her long legs splayed for comfort.


Nanny had legs that made grown men burst into tears just watching her walk by, but here tonight with the silly knee socks of the nanny uniform she was like some Mary Poppins meets Catholic school girl mash-up. Her sipping a beer, limbs all akimbo, ensconced on my bed as the music rose had me set down my beer and drop slowly between her knees. My hand traced gently over her knee as she said, “If you are a good boy I’ll leave the socks on.”

She knew me too well.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Heard on the Street

A middle aged woman teetering down Belmont Avenue at Halsted Street shouting into her phone, "I haven't had sex in a long time Constance,  so I do not want to hear about it." 

She clatters down the sidewalk in her too short shorts and come fuck me heels. 

If my bus wasn't arriving I might have stepped up and volunteered. 

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

A Durable Men

Just got a spam e-mail stating they were looking for a durable men. Hmmmm...

Durable,doable,disposable.

D's are the times we live in.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Petey's Stoopid Thought For The Day

Life is a vacation from being dead.

I shall take that thought and now merrily run through my vacation time with more glee than ever.


Saturday, March 15, 2014

Weekend Writing Warriors 03/16/14

Weekend Writing Warriors / #8sunday / 03/16/14


Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors! Sign up below with your name, blog and email and share an 8-sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Your post needs to be live between 12:00 noon on Saturday 03/15/14 and 9:00 AM on Sunday 03/16/14. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their 8sunday posts.


 www.wewriwa.com 



Spread the word. Twitter hashtag #8sunday.

Life at the Sentient Bean / Casino

Casino

The last time I saw Fang Fang Wu she was physically and verbally assaulting a slot machine. At four foot eleven you may think  the Fangster would be easy to trifle with. That would be a serious miscalculation. But ask any slot machine, or dealer, car or otherwise and they will turn pale at the mention of this little force of nature.  Once her cold black eyes caught you, caught you were. Well I had to try to wrestle her away from the machine, because management was moving in the forces to stop her from trying to rip the arm off of the one armed bandit, but she knew it was payday and she was there to collect.


At this point she had mounted the machine and seemed to be trying to hump a payoff out of the machine while gibbering in what she claimed was her native tongue. I could never confirm nor deny that fact. 




WeWriWa guidelines

Sunday 9 AM EST, your WeWriWa/8sentence post must be what appears when the linky link is clicked.

Your WeWriWa intro/greeting and 8 sentence excerpt must be at the top of the post--nothing before.

Eight sentences for the story excerpt, please.

For poetry, limit the word count to 150 words.

A link back to www.wewriwa.com must be included visibly on the page.

Promotions for your own books, book release announcements, music videos, awards, personal photos, announcements, news and videos etc. are permitted after the 8 sentence excerpt.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Petey's Stoopid Thought For The Day

Sentience is transient , whereas my sentences can run on and on and on and on... ad infinitum.

About Me

My photo
Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality, artisanal smut, with a pinch of full time flâneur tossed in to taste.