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Excerpt
Picture
Perfect
By
Barbara
Donlon Bradley
Susan sat with her girlfriends at the
local coffee shop. She loved her friends but she wished they would
stop trying to match-make her. Single life was fun. Besides, anyone
who they would find wouldn’t impress her mother. The man who won her
mother’s heart had to have a little magic up his sleeve.
“Oh, Susan, there’s one for you.” Her
friend Elsie pointed to a handsome man who had walked in and was in
line to order a drink.
“Oh, no, no, no, no. I’ll find my own
man, thank you very much.”
“Oh come on, Susan. Go talk to him.
What can it hurt?”
“My pride? You know I can’t talk to
men like that. I end up stumbling over my own tongue.”
“True. I have heard how suave you can
be when talking to the opposite sex.” Her friend Cathy giggled.
“Remember the last guy we pushed her on? What was it you said? I
really like your crotch? When you meant to say you really liked his
tie? I never laughed so hard.”
“Yeah. Gave me the confidence boost I
needed. Thanks.” She raised her cup in a mock salute.
“Ladies, this has been fun, but I
have to get home. My husband has been watching our children long
enough.” Elsie stood. “I’ll see everyone tomorrow at work.”
“We should be going too, Susan. I’ve
got some work to do before we go in tomorrow.”
Susan was happy to get out of there.
She headed out to Cathy’s car. Susan could walk home. Her apartment
wasn’t that far but the bitter cold had her catching a ride with her
friend instead of walking.
“I’ll drop you off in front of your
apartment then go find a parking place and come up. Okay?” asked
Cathy.
“Sure. It’s still early. See you in a
few.” She dashed to the building and up the stairs. The warmth of
her apartment was her only thought. She opened the door to her place
and sighed as the heat blanketed around her. It was one of the best
things about apartment living. It didn’t take much to heat the
place.
Something flickered out of the corner
of her eye. “Oh, no.”
There, floating in the face of her
large wall mirror was a bunch of words written in flame. “How the
heck am I supposed to get rid of that?”
She ran to her linen closet and
grabbed a cloth. Once she was back at the mirror she found she had
grabbed a hand towel. “Oh yeah, that’s going cover a lot.”
Racing back to her closet she threw
the offending towel back in and grabbed a sheet. It didn’t matter
what the sheet was as long as it covered the mirror. Just as she
adjusted the sheet to make sure it covered the whole thing, her
girlfriend knocked on the door then opened it.
“Found a spot right up front this
time.” She plopped onto the couch. Looking at the mirror her brow
furrowed. “You in mourning?”
“What?” Susan refused to look at the
mirror. Maybe that wasn’t what her friend was staring at.
“The covering over the mirror? That
can mean a death in the family. Nice pattern too. Didn’t know you
were into Scooby Doo that much.”
“No.” She didn’t pay attention to
what she grabbed. Now she wished she did. “Just, um, it’s dirty and
I didn’t want anyone to see it until I get it clean.”
One corner started to slip off. Susan
ran to the mirror to make sure it stayed put. “It will be fine once
I clean it.”
“Where’s the glass cleaner?”
“Why?” Susan pulled on the other
corner which was trying to come loose as well.
Because if it bothers you that much
then clean it now.”
“No. I’m fine. I’ll get to it later.”
She adjusted the cloth once more before joining her friend on the
couch. She pasted a fake smile on her face. “Would you like
something to drink?”
“It’s okay. I really should be going
now.” Cathy stood and headed to the door. She pointed to the mirror.
“Let me know when it’s safe to come back in.”
Susan knew she had freaked out her
friend again, but she’d rather have them think she was a little
out there than to try to explain she had magical powers. She
walked her friend to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She sighed as she locked the door.
Why did her friends put up with her? She grabbed all her glamour
magazines and spread them out in front of her on the floor. Tomorrow
she’ll hear the jokes about her obsessing about the dirtiness of the
mirror.
If only she could tell them her deep
dark secret. Maybe they’d leave her alone if they knew.
============
Brooklyn’s
T-Bird Man
By
Linda
White-Francis
Brooklyn Marshall, thirty-five,
knelt, patted her husband’s grave and imagined his warm, stubbly
beard tickling her cheek. In retrospect, her self-seeking decision
to have him buried right there in McAlester, Missouri instead of so
far away in Arlington National Cemetery, is something she still has
misgivings over. Shattered by her loss, she hasn’t reckoned with his
death very well, consequently when she decided, much to his parents’
chagrin, that the best place for his remains would be as close to
her as possible, she hasn’t heard from them since. “I miss you so
much honey,” she whimpered sorrowfully, hot tears spattering all
over Sergeant Major Franklin Binkley Marshall’s marker below.
Brooklyn bent down awkwardly and nestled her weary head against the
cold metal plate. Strangely, the frigid bronze lettering beneath her
tear-stained face felt more like Frank’s generous, warm shoulder. “I
love you darling. I want you back so badly,” she persisted,
pummeling the spring grass with one balled-up fist. Brooklyn has
done this every Sunday for over three years. She didn’t think she
would ever get over her husband’s tragic death.
* * * *
Brooklyn faked a smile because he
smiled first and pulled her grocery cart out of the way, so the
tall, decidedly younger Steve Martin look-alike could get to the
magazine racks in front of her. “Sorry,” she apologized, mildly
irritated, because she didn’t have much time, the kids would be home
from school soon and Frankie, Jr. had a trumpet lesson. All I
want to do is steal a few selfish moments to myself and browse these
country magazines without any interruptions. Brooklyn blinked,
tugging a wayward strand of chestnut hair stuck to the corner of her
right eyelid.
“That’s okay, you don’t have to move
your cart,” the attractive man smiled for a second time then
squeezed into the classic car section- accidentally brushing up
against her arm. She smiled again too, coughed into a cuffed hand
and wheeled the cart around next to the greeting card shelves.
Country decorating was her passion even though she didn’t have the
money to do it the way she wanted. So the magazines filled a desire
left void of funds, thus giving her a myriad of ideas to hold on to
until the real thing was possible. Brooklyn was a believer of all
things being possible in due time, even if she and her kids were
living a bit closer to the bone since Frank’s passing. Luckily, she
was strong, and had a good head on her shoulders. Frank once told
her what he loved the most about her was her good old-fashion horse
sense. Taking it as a compliment, she kissed him for it, although
she thought a more fitting tribute might have been her unfathomable,
violet-blue eyes, and supple, Irish skin. Now that would have made
her swoon with desire, but she loved him anyway. Horse sense.
What a funny thing to say, but that was Frank. Never very
complimentary. Shy really, but the greatest guy in the world to have
for a husband. Mostly he was kind and considerate and so
humorous she could never stay mad at him more than hour. He was a
bighearted, handsome man, and she was madly in love with him still.
He had loved her unconditionally, and she loved him the same way.
Her mother once remarked she thought their devotion was more a
religion than a marriage because they worshipped each other.
* * * *
Brooklyn checked her watch
anxiously—no time she thought, and tossed the quarterly into the
empty buggy and began to push. I could buy a thick, juicy steak
for what that darn magazine costs. I should be ashamed. Oh well.
She thought pursing her lips angrily, but her self-effacing
reprimand faded quickly when the pleasant car buff, standing a few
feet away, stepped closer- gently touching her shoulder. “Miss look
at this. I own this car,” he tapped the page enthusiastically. She
looked up annoyed, way up because he must have been six foot five.
“Yes,” she sighed unenthusiastically,
wishing she’d been more charitable. He had the most fascinating dark
chocolate brown eyes she’d ever seen. Those eyes were a sexy
standout with his pure white hair. This guy was easy on the eyes
too. “Look at this,” he pointed a sun kissed index finger to a
snazzy red convertible. “This is my car alright. Isn’t she a beauty?
It’s a 1959 T-Bird.” Wow what a neat old car. I love the
Brandywine red. It would be fun to take that for a joy ride.
=============
Prince of
Wood
By
Megan Hussey
“Oh, this is priceless. This is the
best possible circumstance ever to bless my eternally charmed
life. Without question. Folks, line up now to buy your tickets for
the world premiere of ‘Fortune Smiles on Gierra Robinson.’”
Gierra Robinson’s friends often
called her The Queen of Irony. She preferred to consider her blunt
manner of speech as a sad but true statement of fact.
That definition certainly applied in
this case. Gierra stood in the lobby of Perkins Department Store,
wearing a bikini that had looked fabulous on the supermodel in the
Perkins catalogue.
I just forgot to consider the one
crucial difference between that girl and me,
she looked down self-consciously at her curvy form. I eat.
Mandy, her dearest friend and a
Perkins sales clerk, dismissed her chagrin with the wave of her
delicate hand.
“You’re a cutie pie, Gierra, and
would look great in a one-piece,” she gestured toward a nearby rack
of single-pieced swimwear. “Let’s look for a different style.”
Gierra nodded and smiled her thanks;
her beam dissolved when she saw a young couple walk arm and arm into
the store.
Both had thick dark hair and chiseled
features, and both wore T-shirts that read, respectively, “I’m with
her” and “I’m with him.”
“Welcome to Perkins!” Mandy greeted
the couple with a hearty wave that involved the prominent use of her
middle finger.
Turning to Gierra, she frowned
deeply. “I’m so sorry, kid. Of all the times to run into your
ex-boyfriend and his fiancée.”
Covering her face with her hands,
Gierra then made her loudly spoken declaration; one that dripped
with such bitter irony that it sent elderly people and small
children walking with quick steps in the opposite direction,
mumbling something about an all-important pretzel sale in the
Perkins food court.
Despite the downright rancid karma
coming his way, her ex-boyfriend Tad still approached, flanked by
the woman he had left her for; a woman who would look infuriatingly
hot in the bikini that symbolized the very bane of Gierra’s
twenty-six year existence.
Looking around helplessly, her eyes
widened as they took in the sleek form of a department store
mannequin. In refreshing contrast to the supermodels who inspired
her envy, this perfect model provoked a different emotion.
The mannequin was male and had carved
(literally, she guessed) features that mirrored those of her
ex-boyfriend; features enhanced by a tall, muscular form clad in a
long black leather coat.
Yet while Tad’s hair was cropped
fashionably short, the mannequin’s mane appeared silky blond and
fell well past his shoulders. And while Tad’s eyes looked blank and
devoid of expression, the mannequin’s eyes likened to jeweled blue
gems that radiated from his bronzed face. A long leather coat was
the perfect accent to this tall, delicious package.
Kinda’ scary, considering that Tad
is the real person in this situation and this gent could be burned
for kindling at any given moment,
Gierra arched her eyebrows.
Her musings were interrupted by the
anguished groan of her best friend.
“They’re coming this way,” Mandy
waved wildly in her direction. “Hide behind Thor.”
Gierra squinted in confusion.
“Thor?” she repeated.
“The mannequin!” Mandy looked at
her as though she was a total idiot for failing to grasp
this established fact. “That’s what the Perkins girls call him.”
Gierra stared thoughtfully at the
approaching couple then at the statuesque mannequin.
Cocking her head, her lips widened in
a mysterious smile.
“I have other plans for Thor,” she
smirked.
Without further warning, she took the
tall, muscled mannequin into her arms and pressed her lips warmly
against his.
Well, as warmly as humanly
possible, considering his probable future as somebody’s hobby desk, she shrugged.
Apparently catching onto her plan,
Mandy stepped swiftly between Gierra and their approaching visitors.
“Hi, Tad,” she hoped against hope
that her broad wave would obscure the ridiculous scene transpiring
behind her. “Always nice to see you and Tangy.”
The man nodded.
“And I take it that man Gierra is
kissing is her new boyfriend?” He gestured toward Gierra.
Mandy nodded.
“They’ve been dating for about a
month now,” she rolled her eyes heavenward. ”I can’t keep them
apart, as you can see.”
Tad pursed his lips.
“So it would seem.” He added more
quietly, “I guess she’s gone on with her life.”
Shaking his head, he mumbled a
dispirited goodbye and left the store, his wide-eyed, bewildered
fiancée in tow.
Though Tangy always appears a bit
bewildered, Gierra
withdrew abruptly from her passionate clench. That seems to be
her natural facial expression.
She turned to face Mandy. “Well, I
can safely say that’s the strangest thing I’ve ever done with an
inanimate object,” she winked.
Her friend cocked her head.
“What about that apparatus you bought
at my sister’s adult toy party?” She pursed her lips.
================
Fill Your
Prescription
An
Adventure of Billy Boner
By K.C.
Foster
I’ve never told anyone what happened
to me at the drug store because I didn’t think anyone would believe
me. The summer I spent working there was the best, and most erotic,
of my life. It all started with Mrs. Chambers, the pharmacist I
closed with on Tuesday nights.
I remember the first night I worked
with her alone. I started the job early, in the late spring, so I
still went to school during the day. I’d been there only a week, but
we’d worked together once before. Two pharmacists worked there, Mr.
Sullivan and Mrs. Chambers. Mr. Sullivan was the Head Pharmacist and
the store manager while Mrs. Chambers was the assistant.
The drug store was set up like all
the others, with the pharmacy counter in the back and the cash
register up front. When Mr. Sullivan worked, Henry, a dark skinned
Jamaican a couple of years older than me, always worked at the back
counter. They closed on Wednesday nights.
On Tuesdays, I closed with Mrs.
Chambers. The first night we worked together was pretty quiet, and
we really didn’t talk much. She showed me how to count everything
out, how to finish the paperwork and let me know what I had to sweep
up and clean. It was all very businesslike.
Even that night, there was something
sensuous about her. I mean, she probably wouldn’t turn any heads
when she walked into a room, but she seemed...sexy. To an overly
excited eighteen year old, I suppose just about every woman who
walked past is sexy, especially since I hadn’t been lighting the
world on fire with my romantic conquests. Still, something in the
way she moved was sensual.
She wasn’t tall, a little over five
feet, close to a foot shorter than I was at six feet two. She was
thin but not overly so. The lab coat hid her figure, but she took it
off at the end of the night, and I saw she had big tits and a thin
waist. She wore a blue satin top with a black knee length skirt that
showed her toned calves through black pantyhose. Her eyes were her
sexiest feature. They were big, almond shaped and dark brown. When
she looked at me, even if she told me to sweep the cold and cough
aisle, she seemed to size me up. She would start with my eyes, but
would wander and eventually settle on what I thought was my
waistline. When she did that, her glossy red lips would curl into
this knowing little smirk that made me nervous but excited at the
same time. That first Tuesday night we worked together, I think I
managed to grunt a few times and actually get out a quick ‘Night’ as
I left.
By the third Tuesday, I knew
something was going on. Tuesday nights weren’t particularly busy so
we had some down time. I tried my best to do the right thing. When
there weren’t any customers around, I found stuff to keep myself
busy. I stocked shelves, dusted, straightened shelves, anything I
could think of to keep from having to endure that stare of Mrs.
Chambers’. The more she looked at me, the more I realized it wasn’t
my waist she stared at but my zipper. The more she looked, the
harder it was for me to ignore her, and I mean that in a completely
literal sense. Mrs. Chambers gave me an instant and completely
obvious hard-on with just a stare.
That night she walked onto the floor
and stood behind me as I bent over to straighten out the baby
formula. I don’t have any idea how long she waited there.
“So Bill, what’s going on with you
this week?” Her voice startled me. When I worked on the floor, Mr.
Sullivan never left the pharmacy counter to talk; he was always too
busy chatting away with Henry. None of the other girls working there
paid much attention to me, especially Chelsea, Mrs. Chambers’
daughter and a classmate of mine, who acted like acknowledging my
presence would cause her tits to sprout tumors and start singing
show tunes.
I looked like something out of a bad
television show as I jerked upright and dropped a couple cans of
baby formula. This time she didn’t even try to look me in the eye,
but stared at the front of my jeans. Her tongue massaged the left
side of her upper lip for a second. My chest felt like I stood next
to a speaker at a nightclub;, my heart smashed against ribs so hard
I knew she saw it. I felt my cheeks getting hot, and, try as I
might, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
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