Because yesterday's post was enough to make MY nuts shrivel--
(no, I don't have nuts...)Here is a reposting of the pictures that make ME smile--
This angle makes my forehead look a bit long, but hey, that gives me an idea for the next time I take nude photos of a man...
The semi-retired, but as perky as ever GIRLS:
My only complaint is that I wish they were longer, but I do so love their shape--
Also.
There were hot teenage boys at the pool today.
Older teens--tattoos and earrings...
I found myself distracted by the youth dripping off them like chlorinated water from smooth pecs...
ahem.
...huh...?
So I started a story yesterday, but I'm realizing that I truly have capped myself at 350 words.
I noticed it when I started writing for the newspaper--
editor wanted 500 word articles, but they always seemed to be 350, the last 150 was forced.
I keep writing flash fiction of 350 words and my theory is that my posts are all around the 350 word mark, so my mind has just acclimated to that length.
So......
I need to force myself beyond that barrier repeatedly until it becomes more comfortable.
If I remember to follow through, I may just continue expanding this little starter piece. I have added to it twice now, and it's almost a thousand words...I think it has potential, if I could just slow down and show instead of tell...
“Am I just crazy here, cuz I feel like I’m losing my goddamned mind!” She spoke the words into the receiver of the phone, a shaking hand tapping ash into a non-existent ash tray.
“You’re not crazy, Luce.” He sighed on the other end of the line. “We’ll figure this out.”
Lucy took another drag from the eighth cigarette she had ever smoked, from the pack she had purchased two hours previous and stared at the wall of her home, at once familiar and alien.
He tried to break the tension by remarking again on how odd it was to hear her smoking, but his attempt at a joke fell flat, coming out more like an accusation. Either way, it got no response. Long moments passed, the international toll piling up on his end of the phone call as unheeded as the Surgeon General’s warning.
“Eric.”
Silence.
“Ok, so here’s what I think,” she had a spark of life in her voice for the first time in weeks, so on the other side of the line, on the other side of the world, Eric sat up and held the phone a little tighter, almost holding his breath.
“We need more information, right? I mean, we know this guy has been following me for a long time, but who is he? I know, I know. We’ve asked that question a thousand times, but what I mean is, let’s figure out a way to get him to tell us. We’re smart, right??” She laughed a little, her sleeplessness almost pushing her into hysterical laughter. “We can trick him.”
“I don’t know, Lucy. Let’s sleep on it. Well, you sleep on it. I’m going to go to work now, it is next Wednesday here, after all.” She could picture his smile as he made their same old joke about living on different continents.
“Yeah. Sleep. You think; I’ll sleep.”
When she finally laid the cordless phone back in its charging station she looked at the half-empty pack of cigarettes and the mess she had made there before double-checking all the locks on all the doors, and making sure the blinds were tightly closed.
This crazy stalker had made her a prisoner in her own home, and it was starting to wear on her.
“Hey, ‘John Doe’! Fuck YOU!” She shouted to her empty house. She felt his presence like a shadow, always there. As the echo faded, the skin on the back of her neck stood up. Realization struck her, and she said the name again, the name he used to sign his love notes, his hate notes, his suicide notes. One a day for 6 months.
“John.” She smiled at herself for being so slow to realize the connection. “You do know me, don’t you, freak?”
There were four of them. Four men named John that she knew that year. One she slept with, one she went on a couple of dates with, one she watched blossom from gawky Mormon teen into earnest, contact lens-wearing manager, and one that she welcomed a little too enthusiastically on his visit with her roommate, his sister. It could be any of them, really. And a fifth if you counted the guy who went by the name of “Lu”, but whose driver’s license said “Jon”. He had disappeared years ago, and she felt she knew his roommate better, the one who collected snakes.
So. John G. That cat was the likeliest candidate, making him by default the least likely. Too obvious. His clear, pale skin, his horrible teeth, and that giant case of chef’s knives he always brought to work. He was a chef, but it still felt out of place. He took her to a ballet, even though he knew she was dating the teenage cook from the night shift. He knew she deserved better even if she didn’t.
And then there was John A. That sweet, sweet, kid. It could be him, too. When he traded his coke-bottle glasses for contacts and got a real haircut, she did start to see him as a possible possibility, but no. Still too sweet. He had definitely been in love with her. She knew it, but he was too good, too sweet and fresh and innocent—and she needed to drink down her share of bad boys first. She almost wanted to tell him that, apologetically, “I just need to get these wild boys out of my system first, and then we can get married and be sweet together!” But…how does one really say such a thing? And so she didn’t. His uncles were polygamists, and his sister looked like Laura Ingalls Wilder. He was so earnest but still just a little off. He could have been further off than she noticed back then, and it could be him.
And then…oh, Jon L! That one. He would have charmed her if she hadn’t seen it coming. But whenever she sees it coming she sidesteps charm, because it’s only used as a weapon. His dark eyes, his "vintage" Camaro (read: falling apart, but sexy anyway) and his love of words. She could still see him crouched on the greasy floor by the grill, sobbing. She knew he was still drunk from the night before, she believed him when he said his tears were for the death of a relationship. She even believed him when he said he wasn't yet 21 and that he would let her drive his car for a case of beer. All she wanted was to touch his sculpted cheeks and feel his long hair on her skin. And that was all she got.
********
Feedback welcome.
Especially from You... |
posted by Bored Housewife at
4:34 PM
<< Home