Thursday, August 23"A Perfect Exit Ruined"
*Entry into a flash-fiction short story compo. Thought I'd share...*
You know that moment when a girl walks past, and she has an ass like an onion? That sweet, round, bring-tears-to-your-eyes shape that make you want to walk right up, say hello, and bite it like a bulldog lapping porridge?
Yeah me neither.
Picture it:
The jeans with cuts in them that could only have come from an Italian’s couture scissors, that little cotton body-hugger top riding all the way up and not going nearly enough (but thank God not) down to her navel, the back dimples swaying just above a thin piece of elastic that sure as shit wouldn’t stay up there if it weren’t for the perfect crunchy-apple bulge of her booty pushing hard against the tight-like-a-tiger jeans...
A femmé fatale, if you will. Carved from the purest ‘hot’, guaranteed to make you lose your shit faster’n Michael J Fox playing jenga.
Bitch.
Well, that was my first thought.
But as that head turned, the eyes looked, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a crinkly little smile carved by one of the ninja turtles; I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe this ‘bitch’, this Miss Priss wasn’t like the rest of them. Maybe, just maybe her smile was genuine ‘happy’, not mind-numbing apathy.
She stopped. That smile. Oh my sweet lordy. She bent, ever so slightly forward, as I took a sip of my bourbon. Fine ass bourbon too, none of that cheap-ass twenty Rand Bushmills crap that Fox Lounge couldn’t even give away. It burned my lips with tasty fire, as her peachy-keen breasts swelled a little, burning my eyes with an incredibly sensitive yet erotic metaphor that I can’t think of right now.
I figured my time had come. This was it. The subtle ‘chink’ as the cash register of my life came crashing open. The feeling that maybe, just maybe, tonight was my night…
As the torn-jean crunchy-apple back-dimples from heaven turned and swayed away, I just plain stared. Desperate to soak up every single atom of that perfect getaway.
Then I looked down at the tattered paper cup between my legs.
Fifty fucking cents.
Cheap-ass whore.
Can’t a guy in a wheelchair get a break?
7 comments:
my *GOD* i wish i looked like that pic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Damn, you can write one hell of a story. Nice photo, too. There's something about it. I just can't my penis, i mean, finger on it.
I hate this woman. Hate her with all my heart.
I mean really, who walks around like that anyway?
Skank.
(Nice twist in your story, by the by)
Plumbers crack
*UHEM*, ladies, it are I wearing vat "almost-not-a" jean pant!
...well..er.., not really, but can I just pretend for today to make myself feel better?
Of course you can lass! I would too, but I won't. On account of, you know, not being a girl and all...
Without a doubt, she's something a guy would look at. But, after jerkin' off for hours, that same guy should come to the understanding that what he was jerkin' off to was no more than a unworthy whore. Looks and sex- appeal are nice, but it has to be balanced with taste and sensiblity.
I wrote that with my left hand. I'm right handed :)
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