Story #1
posted by story on August 28th, 2008 at 12:35AM
posted by story on August 28th, 2008 at 12:35AM
"Unn", she moaned softly as my hands gently traced the curves of her devastating hips. The curls of her long black hair slowly brushed against my face, each one conducting a fataly immobilizing electric charge. "I", I blew behind her left ear, "love" into her right, "you" into the nape of her neck as I inhaled her hair and exhaled my pressed cock between her juicy ass cheeks. She swung her arms back and clawed into my ass. Her head fell back onto my shoulder. Her eyebrows scraped passionately against my cheeks. I was on fire.
She took a step back and tripped me into the chair behind us. Then she twisted around and leaned forward, her rigid arms locked into the arm rests, caging me under her hot breath. She leaned a little closer until our lips were infinitessimally close and infinitely far. The humid smells from her mouth rolled into my nose and mouth along with the words "Don't be stupid". She suddenly pushed away from the chair and walked back towards the window of her apartment. It was gray and overcast outside--but the most beautiful gray imaginable. It gently sillhouetted her form, hugging her around her hips and shoulders.
"You know what I meant." I said with a hint of desperation. She leaned into the window and scanned the streets below.
Montreal was bursting at the seams with creative energy. It was alive. I knew from the instant I stepped onto it's civilized streets that there was something special here. It was the beautiful nest for some equally beautiful and magical creature, hiding somewhere, feeding off of the energy.
She walked towards the counter and fumbled into her bag in search of some cigarretes and a lighter. "Look--I didn't mean it", I self-reproached. "I got carried away". Her delicate hands briskly produce fire and a momentary distraction. Then her powerful eyes dart up into mine. "Shut up," she begins. "You idiot. I was afraid you were gonna do this." My forehead creased in frustration. She takes a deep puff and returns to the window. "I'm not like you." Another puff. "I can't just throw everything that I've built out the fucking window. This is only for today. You don't mean any more to me. OK?" I leaned forward, clenching the chair, my heartbeat accelerating. I couldn't let this beautiful creature escape. I stared longingly through it's tight jeans. It's irresistible thighs.
I first met those irresistible thighs at an open-air film festival; one of many that Montreal is famous for. It was an oddly interesting contrived black and white introspective on circus freaks. Despite being made in the fifties, it held a timeless quality. Having arrived a little late, I had to stand off to the side, until out of the dark she beckons me to join her. The cool evening breeze carresses us closer together. "Are you a freak?" she probes quietly and slyly into my ear. I had found the creature! "Of course" I reply with pride. A conspiratorial grin crosses our lips. We lean against each other and rekindle our body heat.
Ever since that fateful evening, we had met pretty regularly at the local musical haunts. The city was fertile with them. Quiet, modest and unsuspecting, they spoke to the soul far more eloquently than words ever could. She was pretty hesitant at first, but the routine slowly grew on us. We needed the regular visceral dose to jog our minds. Our kinship inevitably grew stronger, to the point where we were now naked together in her apartment.
I drop to my knees and crawl toward her thighs. Between her thighs. She reaches for my head and closes her eyes. "Ummm."
The delicious thin skin covering her wet juicy berry sent shockwaves through my body. "Don't stop!" She was blueberry pie. Her claws dug deep into my skull. I was drooling. She was drooling. She began shaking violently, almost screaming. I secured her body to the floor. She was mine. "I love you!" The sweet juices of her blueberry pie drenched my mouth. I bury myself between her thighs until her trembling subsides. We were just getting started. A distant thunder burst the silence, but we didn't care.
KABOOM! I jumped slightly from my chair.
"And for his unwavering dedication to Holtz & Holstein, we are delighted to present this year's H&H Man Of The Year Award to none other than Mister Bret Guilame."
Dazed slightly from the jolt, my stomach took a marked turn for the worse. Nevertheless, on cue, I put on my plastic smile, stand and wave to the crowd. I was sick amid this ebbing and flowing sea of fellow blind plastic faces; shining plastic faces, with no eyes. The heavy rain outside amplified the running liquid in my bowels. The pristine red carpet indoors forbade any relief. My colar was soaking wet.
"Congratulations Bret!" an ugly female eel bubbled out. "Bret-meister you fucking shark. Good on ya'" blurts another male creature. "Way-da-go Mister G" an infantile female shrimp bleats. The eel and the shark and the shrimp and all the plastic creatures begin to spin slowly around me. I focus all my energy on following the perfect red carpet through the parted sea of hideous noisy plastic creatures. As I approach the stage, a blinding blazing burning spotlight hones in on me.
"Throughout the year, Mister Guilame has shown on countless occasions how much he values his work here at H&H; and what invaluable work it has turned out to be! Our most recent victory in the ISP-Freedom case was won mostly on the back of this exemplary young man. You showed those Toronto bastards who's who!"
I had left Toronto about a year ago, shortly after I married Ann. We were young. I was fresh new blood in the up-and-coming Imaginary Property game, and I was in hot demand. We had everything laid out in front of us. I was promoted to an executive position here in Montreal with twice my old pay. We were given a beautiful solid townhouse near the old city, with sixty percent of the mortgage already covered by the company. I never would have imagined, only a few years ago that I would become the quintessential 'company man'.
But Ann didn't seem to mind. I knew she would love the city. Music was her passion, and Montreal's stages were always captivating. We originally met at just such a stage while I was a bass guitarist back in Toronto. Sometimes I feel guilty that we can't share our common passion together, but times are tough. I got this job for her. For us. I'm sure she understands that. I wish she could be here tonight.
I don't get to play much any more. The only songs I sing nowadays are the same old monotonous cease-and-desist tunes. My latest gig was with the giant Bell against the Association of Independent Internet Service Providers. My role was simple -- get the feds off our backs.
"Aside from being the Man Of The Year for H&H, he's also the man of the year to his wonderful wife; they were recently married, I've heard." Whistles pierce the ocean below. Where the fuck is she anyways? "And so, without further adieu, Mister Guilame, please accept this award, and this cheque, on behalf of Holtz And Holstein and everyone here. We all wish you and your lovely wife the best of luck here in Montreal. Keep up the good fight." She promised she would try to show up. The storm outside the hall surrounded the brewing storm of plastic creatures inside who surrounded the churning gurgling storm in my bowels. The blazing spotlight burned brilliant spots of color across everything in sight.
The plastic creatures simultaneously stand on their feet like a massive tidal wave surrounding me. Their thunderous clapping echos and re-echos in my ears. Rain drops ricochet against the window panes outside. My compatriot, Jean, offers another glass to subdue the motion; the emotion. "Here's to Ann." we clink our glasses, spilling more red wine across the once pristine white tablecloth. "To Ann."
Jean was a hopeless perpetual drunk. He was a sad man. One of the only people in the world who could brighten my day. He had recently lost Nexant -- a big client. His wife too.
"To better times." I add. Another sloppy clink.
"You know Bret, you're one lucky kid." His thick arms and alcoholic breath surround my neck. "I was once like you." His head turns to stare deeply into the center of the table. "I had it all." He mumbles something inaudibly. "God damn it!" For a second I spot a tear welling up in his eye. "As easy as it comes, it fucking goes! It'll go buddy. It will go. It'll leave you. All of it." He releases my shoulders and drinks the rest of his cup. Then fills it up again. The others at our table pretend not to notice; their fixed smiles still point sharply in my direction.
What was I doing here? Where was Ann? Why? How? Pressure was building up within me. I could really use some fresh air about now. But it was still raining outside. There was a choking humidity. There was nowhere to breathe! Maybe Ann had gone to a performance. I wouldn't be surprised. Why would she be here in this humid plastic swamp when she could listen to cool mind-bending freely vibrating strings instead.
My jaw drops open and the pain and loneliness and the sickness, the abandoned dreams, self-violations and betrayals, along with the calamari red wine and shrimp all erupt up through my gaping mouth and onto the table. The warm stream up my throat is soothing. The small dark chunks of partially digested calamari spread evenly atop the crisp tablecloth remind me of blueberry pie; my favourite. My parents used to make them every summer when I was younger. The encroaching tidal wave shrinks into silence, and the pitter-patter of the rain brings a natural soothing cadence back into my ears. My compatriot places his arm around my shoulder again and steadies me from the stormy seas beyond.
"I really fucked up Jean"
We sit for a minute, staring together at the warm, sweet blueberry pie on our table. I wish Ann could be here to experience it with us. Things were going to change! The juices had soaked through my dress shirt by now, and a cool breeze chilled my body. A deep shiver shook me back to reality.
"Jean. I love you!"
I spring to my feet and begin my frantic escape away from the sea of plastic people. Forever.
"Aaann!"
The golden evening sky splashes into the kitchen window and highlights her peaceful gray hair. The heavenly smell of hot fresh crisp blueberry pie floods the house.
Our son had moved away recently to Montreal. He was now some fancy lawyer there. It's hard to criticize him. A stable comfortable job and a beautiful home can be pretty tempting. We tried to teach him the benefits of our bohemian life style, but apparently all in vain. We weren't really ashamed of him--but definitely a little frustrated; perhaps even a little dissapointed.
When he was younger, he was wild. We worried that perhaps we wouldn't be able to tame him. He would always sing loud and confidently. Jumped; never walked. He read ferociously. We imbued within him our same love of reading, and once he got started, nothing could stop him.
"Come 'n gedit while is hot!" She beckons. I set my notebook aside, and meander into the kitchen.
"Babe... do you ever worry about our boy?"
She darts a quick glance towards me. "What for?"
"I dunno. Maybe we should have done things differently."
"It was never up to us. You know that."
She was right.
"Stop worrying so much doc" She carves out a slice. I drop my worries and pick up the blueberry pie.
She took a step back and tripped me into the chair behind us. Then she twisted around and leaned forward, her rigid arms locked into the arm rests, caging me under her hot breath. She leaned a little closer until our lips were infinitessimally close and infinitely far. The humid smells from her mouth rolled into my nose and mouth along with the words "Don't be stupid". She suddenly pushed away from the chair and walked back towards the window of her apartment. It was gray and overcast outside--but the most beautiful gray imaginable. It gently sillhouetted her form, hugging her around her hips and shoulders.
"You know what I meant." I said with a hint of desperation. She leaned into the window and scanned the streets below.
Montreal was bursting at the seams with creative energy. It was alive. I knew from the instant I stepped onto it's civilized streets that there was something special here. It was the beautiful nest for some equally beautiful and magical creature, hiding somewhere, feeding off of the energy.
She walked towards the counter and fumbled into her bag in search of some cigarretes and a lighter. "Look--I didn't mean it", I self-reproached. "I got carried away". Her delicate hands briskly produce fire and a momentary distraction. Then her powerful eyes dart up into mine. "Shut up," she begins. "You idiot. I was afraid you were gonna do this." My forehead creased in frustration. She takes a deep puff and returns to the window. "I'm not like you." Another puff. "I can't just throw everything that I've built out the fucking window. This is only for today. You don't mean any more to me. OK?" I leaned forward, clenching the chair, my heartbeat accelerating. I couldn't let this beautiful creature escape. I stared longingly through it's tight jeans. It's irresistible thighs.
I first met those irresistible thighs at an open-air film festival; one of many that Montreal is famous for. It was an oddly interesting contrived black and white introspective on circus freaks. Despite being made in the fifties, it held a timeless quality. Having arrived a little late, I had to stand off to the side, until out of the dark she beckons me to join her. The cool evening breeze carresses us closer together. "Are you a freak?" she probes quietly and slyly into my ear. I had found the creature! "Of course" I reply with pride. A conspiratorial grin crosses our lips. We lean against each other and rekindle our body heat.
Ever since that fateful evening, we had met pretty regularly at the local musical haunts. The city was fertile with them. Quiet, modest and unsuspecting, they spoke to the soul far more eloquently than words ever could. She was pretty hesitant at first, but the routine slowly grew on us. We needed the regular visceral dose to jog our minds. Our kinship inevitably grew stronger, to the point where we were now naked together in her apartment.
I drop to my knees and crawl toward her thighs. Between her thighs. She reaches for my head and closes her eyes. "Ummm."
The delicious thin skin covering her wet juicy berry sent shockwaves through my body. "Don't stop!" She was blueberry pie. Her claws dug deep into my skull. I was drooling. She was drooling. She began shaking violently, almost screaming. I secured her body to the floor. She was mine. "I love you!" The sweet juices of her blueberry pie drenched my mouth. I bury myself between her thighs until her trembling subsides. We were just getting started. A distant thunder burst the silence, but we didn't care.
KABOOM! I jumped slightly from my chair.
"And for his unwavering dedication to Holtz & Holstein, we are delighted to present this year's H&H Man Of The Year Award to none other than Mister Bret Guilame."
Dazed slightly from the jolt, my stomach took a marked turn for the worse. Nevertheless, on cue, I put on my plastic smile, stand and wave to the crowd. I was sick amid this ebbing and flowing sea of fellow blind plastic faces; shining plastic faces, with no eyes. The heavy rain outside amplified the running liquid in my bowels. The pristine red carpet indoors forbade any relief. My colar was soaking wet.
"Congratulations Bret!" an ugly female eel bubbled out. "Bret-meister you fucking shark. Good on ya'" blurts another male creature. "Way-da-go Mister G" an infantile female shrimp bleats. The eel and the shark and the shrimp and all the plastic creatures begin to spin slowly around me. I focus all my energy on following the perfect red carpet through the parted sea of hideous noisy plastic creatures. As I approach the stage, a blinding blazing burning spotlight hones in on me.
"Throughout the year, Mister Guilame has shown on countless occasions how much he values his work here at H&H; and what invaluable work it has turned out to be! Our most recent victory in the ISP-Freedom case was won mostly on the back of this exemplary young man. You showed those Toronto bastards who's who!"
I had left Toronto about a year ago, shortly after I married Ann. We were young. I was fresh new blood in the up-and-coming Imaginary Property game, and I was in hot demand. We had everything laid out in front of us. I was promoted to an executive position here in Montreal with twice my old pay. We were given a beautiful solid townhouse near the old city, with sixty percent of the mortgage already covered by the company. I never would have imagined, only a few years ago that I would become the quintessential 'company man'.
But Ann didn't seem to mind. I knew she would love the city. Music was her passion, and Montreal's stages were always captivating. We originally met at just such a stage while I was a bass guitarist back in Toronto. Sometimes I feel guilty that we can't share our common passion together, but times are tough. I got this job for her. For us. I'm sure she understands that. I wish she could be here tonight.
I don't get to play much any more. The only songs I sing nowadays are the same old monotonous cease-and-desist tunes. My latest gig was with the giant Bell against the Association of Independent Internet Service Providers. My role was simple -- get the feds off our backs.
"Aside from being the Man Of The Year for H&H, he's also the man of the year to his wonderful wife; they were recently married, I've heard." Whistles pierce the ocean below. Where the fuck is she anyways? "And so, without further adieu, Mister Guilame, please accept this award, and this cheque, on behalf of Holtz And Holstein and everyone here. We all wish you and your lovely wife the best of luck here in Montreal. Keep up the good fight." She promised she would try to show up. The storm outside the hall surrounded the brewing storm of plastic creatures inside who surrounded the churning gurgling storm in my bowels. The blazing spotlight burned brilliant spots of color across everything in sight.
The plastic creatures simultaneously stand on their feet like a massive tidal wave surrounding me. Their thunderous clapping echos and re-echos in my ears. Rain drops ricochet against the window panes outside. My compatriot, Jean, offers another glass to subdue the motion; the emotion. "Here's to Ann." we clink our glasses, spilling more red wine across the once pristine white tablecloth. "To Ann."
Jean was a hopeless perpetual drunk. He was a sad man. One of the only people in the world who could brighten my day. He had recently lost Nexant -- a big client. His wife too.
"To better times." I add. Another sloppy clink.
"You know Bret, you're one lucky kid." His thick arms and alcoholic breath surround my neck. "I was once like you." His head turns to stare deeply into the center of the table. "I had it all." He mumbles something inaudibly. "God damn it!" For a second I spot a tear welling up in his eye. "As easy as it comes, it fucking goes! It'll go buddy. It will go. It'll leave you. All of it." He releases my shoulders and drinks the rest of his cup. Then fills it up again. The others at our table pretend not to notice; their fixed smiles still point sharply in my direction.
What was I doing here? Where was Ann? Why? How? Pressure was building up within me. I could really use some fresh air about now. But it was still raining outside. There was a choking humidity. There was nowhere to breathe! Maybe Ann had gone to a performance. I wouldn't be surprised. Why would she be here in this humid plastic swamp when she could listen to cool mind-bending freely vibrating strings instead.
My jaw drops open and the pain and loneliness and the sickness, the abandoned dreams, self-violations and betrayals, along with the calamari red wine and shrimp all erupt up through my gaping mouth and onto the table. The warm stream up my throat is soothing. The small dark chunks of partially digested calamari spread evenly atop the crisp tablecloth remind me of blueberry pie; my favourite. My parents used to make them every summer when I was younger. The encroaching tidal wave shrinks into silence, and the pitter-patter of the rain brings a natural soothing cadence back into my ears. My compatriot places his arm around my shoulder again and steadies me from the stormy seas beyond.
"I really fucked up Jean"
We sit for a minute, staring together at the warm, sweet blueberry pie on our table. I wish Ann could be here to experience it with us. Things were going to change! The juices had soaked through my dress shirt by now, and a cool breeze chilled my body. A deep shiver shook me back to reality.
"Jean. I love you!"
I spring to my feet and begin my frantic escape away from the sea of plastic people. Forever.
"Aaann!"
The golden evening sky splashes into the kitchen window and highlights her peaceful gray hair. The heavenly smell of hot fresh crisp blueberry pie floods the house.
Our son had moved away recently to Montreal. He was now some fancy lawyer there. It's hard to criticize him. A stable comfortable job and a beautiful home can be pretty tempting. We tried to teach him the benefits of our bohemian life style, but apparently all in vain. We weren't really ashamed of him--but definitely a little frustrated; perhaps even a little dissapointed.
When he was younger, he was wild. We worried that perhaps we wouldn't be able to tame him. He would always sing loud and confidently. Jumped; never walked. He read ferociously. We imbued within him our same love of reading, and once he got started, nothing could stop him.
"Come 'n gedit while is hot!" She beckons. I set my notebook aside, and meander into the kitchen.
"Babe... do you ever worry about our boy?"
She darts a quick glance towards me. "What for?"
"I dunno. Maybe we should have done things differently."
"It was never up to us. You know that."
She was right.
"Stop worrying so much doc" She carves out a slice. I drop my worries and pick up the blueberry pie.
