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This is probably a little dodgy in more ways than one, but...
FRUITCAKE
The scarlet-painted nail of her right forefinger pointed at the cheesecake: a small delicious-looking affair topped with overflowing cherries.
“Eat it,” she whispered, that husky voice of hers still arousing in me an undying allure.
My eyes traced her slender arm all the way up to the bare shoulder.
“Eat it,” she repeated, the jabbing thrust of her finger and the tensing of her forearm causing a subtle wave to ripple through her cleavage.
I was hungry. Famished. I hadn’t eaten for hours. Or was it days? Yet still I felt the need to ask why.
Why? I said sheepishly, my gaze now focusing on her moist lower lip.
“You know darn well why! If you don’t eat, the secret will remain unknown.” Her curled tongue-tip ran slowly and deliberately across the front of her upper teeth. “Eat – it!” she commanded.
Seeing the red heart-shaped blemish just below her bellybutton, I took the fork from her left hand.
There was a knock-knock-knock on the back door: a ratter-tat-tat.
“Get it down you!” she huffed, as she swivelled and strode out of the room, her stiletto heels leaving transient indentations on the carpet.
Secret? I pondered. What does she mean?
I guided the fork towards the cheesecake and observed the four prongs infiltrate the juicy topping. Seconds later a large dripping chunk made its way towards my dry mouth…
Here comes the big aeroplane… In.
With eyes closed I munched, I tasted, and then I swallowed. Mm-m-mm, it was indeed divine.
But what was she up to? Was this cheesecake an aphrodisiac of some kind? – No. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t be so - trivial.
Perhaps it contained poison? Was she trying to bump me off? – Hm, maybe. She did threaten me with such a possibility once upon a time, but that was when I was depressed, and in my misery (she called it my ‘midlife crisis’) I had foolishly embarked on a quest to enchant Bella, the lovely and delectable schoolgirl who lives next door. When she found out what I’d been up to, I didn’t see daylight for three weeks – she locked me in the cellar - and as way of punishment had maliciously made me believe that every meal shoved through the door with the bristles of her broomstick was laced with a slow-working poison. She wouldn’t do that again… there’s no reason to.
I blocked out the horrible recollections of having to crap in a rusty bucket as I steadily devoured the dainty confection.
The back door clunked shut and she returned to the living-room, planting her redolent presence before me, hands on hips.
“Well?” she asked, moving her feet apart.
Well what?
“Well did you like it?”
Yes. It was quite superb…
There was a short, tense silence.
“Don’t you want to know who was at the back door?”
…Yes - who was at the door?
“Mr.Kelser, Bella’s father.”
There was a second tense silence. I could feel her swirling eyes burning into my forehead like death-rays.
“Don’t you want to know what Mr.Kelser –Bella’s father- wanted?”
…Yes - what did he want?
“I think you know the answer to that question!”
I stared at the smoky veneer of the coffee table, which, rather ominously, reflected her twitching knees.
“It seems the rumours are true.”
Rumours?
“Yes, Bella is pregnant. 14-years-old and pregnant.” She bent slowly forward until her lips were a hair’s-breadth from the bridge of my nose: “I know what you’ve been doing, you filthy pervert! I know it’s you! I’ve seen you, touching her hand and stroking her hair when you think no-one is watching! You make me sick!” Straightening, she picked up the cheesecake plate and turned her back on me, then, looking over the glistening curve of her left shoulder she smiled mockingly: “You do know that your sordid secret is safe with me, my dear… I just hope you savoured every last drop of your sweet little cherry-pie while it lasted.” Her tanned legs strode powerfully away.
O Bella, Bella… Not the poison games in the cellar again.
((The net was closing in. I just knew she was mooching about in the garage searching for that satanic broomstick. It was now or never: flee or be flushed into a dark corner. I arose nervously and – Jumping Jack Flash! – without thinking I darted for the front door. Ole! At last I had the blind courage to be a spontaneous coward!
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Through the sun-drenched streets I flew like an ostrich tooled up with Lucozade.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Past the house of that teenage girl who takes a shower with the curtains open.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Across the playing fields of Bella’s school.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Through the park gates and along the blossom-laden path beside the tennis courts.
Sprint! Sprint! Screeeeeeech!
It was when I arrived at the boat lake (a special place for Bella and I) that my slippers ground to an almighty halt. Something was wrong. I hadn’t seen a soul. Where was everybody?))
“Get in there!” she roared, clouting the back of my head with the bristles of her satanic broomstick. “You’ve got a nerve falling asleep after what you’ve been doing!”
I slid into the cellar on the seat of my breeches. The door slammed and I was (once again) plunged into that familiar musty darkness.
Clink. As the key turned in the lock and the angry footfalls faded, I knew that for the foreseeable future only poisoned dreams would be mine to know -
And I dreamed of Bella…
FRUITCAKE
The scarlet-painted nail of her right forefinger pointed at the cheesecake: a small delicious-looking affair topped with overflowing cherries.
“Eat it,” she whispered, that husky voice of hers still arousing in me an undying allure.
My eyes traced her slender arm all the way up to the bare shoulder.
“Eat it,” she repeated, the jabbing thrust of her finger and the tensing of her forearm causing a subtle wave to ripple through her cleavage.
I was hungry. Famished. I hadn’t eaten for hours. Or was it days? Yet still I felt the need to ask why.
Why? I said sheepishly, my gaze now focusing on her moist lower lip.
“You know darn well why! If you don’t eat, the secret will remain unknown.” Her curled tongue-tip ran slowly and deliberately across the front of her upper teeth. “Eat – it!” she commanded.
Seeing the red heart-shaped blemish just below her bellybutton, I took the fork from her left hand.
There was a knock-knock-knock on the back door: a ratter-tat-tat.
“Get it down you!” she huffed, as she swivelled and strode out of the room, her stiletto heels leaving transient indentations on the carpet.
Secret? I pondered. What does she mean?
I guided the fork towards the cheesecake and observed the four prongs infiltrate the juicy topping. Seconds later a large dripping chunk made its way towards my dry mouth…
Here comes the big aeroplane… In.
With eyes closed I munched, I tasted, and then I swallowed. Mm-m-mm, it was indeed divine.
But what was she up to? Was this cheesecake an aphrodisiac of some kind? – No. She wouldn’t, she couldn’t be so - trivial.
Perhaps it contained poison? Was she trying to bump me off? – Hm, maybe. She did threaten me with such a possibility once upon a time, but that was when I was depressed, and in my misery (she called it my ‘midlife crisis’) I had foolishly embarked on a quest to enchant Bella, the lovely and delectable schoolgirl who lives next door. When she found out what I’d been up to, I didn’t see daylight for three weeks – she locked me in the cellar - and as way of punishment had maliciously made me believe that every meal shoved through the door with the bristles of her broomstick was laced with a slow-working poison. She wouldn’t do that again… there’s no reason to.
I blocked out the horrible recollections of having to crap in a rusty bucket as I steadily devoured the dainty confection.
The back door clunked shut and she returned to the living-room, planting her redolent presence before me, hands on hips.
“Well?” she asked, moving her feet apart.
Well what?
“Well did you like it?”
Yes. It was quite superb…
There was a short, tense silence.
“Don’t you want to know who was at the back door?”
…Yes - who was at the door?
“Mr.Kelser, Bella’s father.”
There was a second tense silence. I could feel her swirling eyes burning into my forehead like death-rays.
“Don’t you want to know what Mr.Kelser –Bella’s father- wanted?”
…Yes - what did he want?
“I think you know the answer to that question!”
I stared at the smoky veneer of the coffee table, which, rather ominously, reflected her twitching knees.
“It seems the rumours are true.”
Rumours?
“Yes, Bella is pregnant. 14-years-old and pregnant.” She bent slowly forward until her lips were a hair’s-breadth from the bridge of my nose: “I know what you’ve been doing, you filthy pervert! I know it’s you! I’ve seen you, touching her hand and stroking her hair when you think no-one is watching! You make me sick!” Straightening, she picked up the cheesecake plate and turned her back on me, then, looking over the glistening curve of her left shoulder she smiled mockingly: “You do know that your sordid secret is safe with me, my dear… I just hope you savoured every last drop of your sweet little cherry-pie while it lasted.” Her tanned legs strode powerfully away.
O Bella, Bella… Not the poison games in the cellar again.
((The net was closing in. I just knew she was mooching about in the garage searching for that satanic broomstick. It was now or never: flee or be flushed into a dark corner. I arose nervously and – Jumping Jack Flash! – without thinking I darted for the front door. Ole! At last I had the blind courage to be a spontaneous coward!
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Through the sun-drenched streets I flew like an ostrich tooled up with Lucozade.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Past the house of that teenage girl who takes a shower with the curtains open.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Across the playing fields of Bella’s school.
Sprint! Sprint! Sprint!
Through the park gates and along the blossom-laden path beside the tennis courts.
Sprint! Sprint! Screeeeeeech!
It was when I arrived at the boat lake (a special place for Bella and I) that my slippers ground to an almighty halt. Something was wrong. I hadn’t seen a soul. Where was everybody?))
“Get in there!” she roared, clouting the back of my head with the bristles of her satanic broomstick. “You’ve got a nerve falling asleep after what you’ve been doing!”
I slid into the cellar on the seat of my breeches. The door slammed and I was (once again) plunged into that familiar musty darkness.
Clink. As the key turned in the lock and the angry footfalls faded, I knew that for the foreseeable future only poisoned dreams would be mine to know -
And I dreamed of Bella…
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I'm normally one to 'get' stuff - but why was she feeding him cheesecake, who the hell was she in relation to him and why was the dressed like a tarty dominatrix?
Explain!
Explain!
Congrats :D
Very well deserved.
Very well deserved.
Very good, professional in it's accomplishments.
"Satanic broomstick" - wonderful.
And I concur with all - great stuff.
And I concur with all - great stuff.
:D Loved that. Write some more ones if you like though, I love the cheesecakeness
Also, strangely enough, my story (I think) is going to involve some rather nasty things such as these.
Maybe cheesecake is linked ...
Maybe cheesecake is linked ...
Ah, BG you are on fine form.
Very - very very - good. Me liketh.
Very - very very - good. Me liketh.
Ineedsleep wrote:
> 1. I had her practically naked which caused an eyebrown to raise
> when she answered the door.
I was visualizing a - what d'you call them - a boob tube :) and a miniskirt.
> 2. A bristled broomstick invokes images of a young Nora Batty.
That's what I was thinking: a young & sexy Nora Batty ;)
> Tuts at the vanity of men as they age :D
I did say it was probably dodgy in more ways than one :)
Sort of Last of the Summer Wine meets Footballer's Wives meets Lolita meets Neighbours :D (or something) - My range knows no bounds! ;D
> 1. I had her practically naked which caused an eyebrown to raise
> when she answered the door.
I was visualizing a - what d'you call them - a boob tube :) and a miniskirt.
> 2. A bristled broomstick invokes images of a young Nora Batty.
That's what I was thinking: a young & sexy Nora Batty ;)
> Tuts at the vanity of men as they age :D
I did say it was probably dodgy in more ways than one :)
Sort of Last of the Summer Wine meets Footballer's Wives meets Lolita meets Neighbours :D (or something) - My range knows no bounds! ;D
Difficult to comment on, that one, except to say that BG, you are a sick, depraved man.
:D
:D
Black Glove wrote:
* chuckles *
Okay I got the image of scarlet painted nails and stilettos, bare arms and not enough clothing to cover the blemish below her bellybutton. So..
1. I had her practically naked which caused an eyebrown to raise when she answered the door.
2. A bristled broomstick invokes images of a young Nora Batty.
Tuts at the vanity of men as they age :D
* chuckles *
Okay I got the image of scarlet painted nails and stilettos, bare arms and not enough clothing to cover the blemish below her bellybutton. So..
1. I had her practically naked which caused an eyebrown to raise when she answered the door.
2. A bristled broomstick invokes images of a young Nora Batty.
Tuts at the vanity of men as they age :D
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