Showing posts with label Beautiful woman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beautiful woman. Show all posts

Thursday, August 10, 2023

Tricky (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

 dontravis.com blog post #613

Image Courtesy of Freepik

 




Enough about AI. Apparently no one is bothered about it outside of me and the actors and writers who’re on strike.

 At any rate, here’s my latest story (no help from AI—and damned little from DTI). Hope you enjoy it.

                                                                                                



****

 TRICKY


My name’s Drufus (that’s a whole ’nother story) Lane. Don’t worry. Everyone knows me as Dru, a recently widowed, twenty-seven-year-old, former techie who hit it big. Sold a patent to a Silicon Valley firm for a whopping sum plus royalties, which meant I no longer slogged away my life at a desk answering to someone else’s cocked finger or arched eyebrow.

My wife Marianne and I had done anything and everything we wanted… except have children. We came up dry in that department, despite spending copious amounts on tests and treatments. The fault, apparently, lay with me, not her. Despite that giant vacuum in our life, we had a reasonably good marriage. In fact, you might say we were on top of the world.

That came to an abrupt and tragic end two months ago when I stopped to fill up my Caddy Escalade at a self-service gas station in a suburb of Los Angeles. While I was inside paying the bill and picking up a couple of bottles of iced tea, a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs that chanced to meet up at that station. With one car on either side of my vehicle, many—make that most—of the shots ended up piercing my Caddy… and taking my Marianne’s life.

After endless interviews with the police, the district attorney’s office, medics, and the press, I found myself totally lost and reached out to my best friend, a civil engineer named Bill Ganderston who lived in San Francisco. Unfortunately, Bill’s firm had posted him to Japan for a six-month stint, so I could only pour out my anguish over the telephone. He offered to cut short his stay, but I refused to let him make such a sacrifice. So I tried coping on my own, but that didn’t work out well. Finally, my sister heard the desperation in my voice and insisted I join her and her husband in Albuquerque… at least for a brief period.

I had no intention of taking up residence with Bonnie and Chuck—my younger sister and her husband—but they were good for me in the interim. Their two children were of an age that I found enchanting. The boy young enough to want to play horsey holding onto my bouncing crossed leg, and the girl old enough to ask tactless but interesting questions about her Uncle Dru.

I vividly recall the first time I set eyes on Alene and Sam Drake, the next-door neighbors Bonnie spoke so highly of. A couple of days after my arrival, she answered the doorbell and ushered in a stunning brunette with a magnificent smile and intriguing green eyes.

“Oh, Alene,” Bonnie gushed, “I’m so glad you could come over. I want you to meet my big brother. Dru, this is my next-door neighbor, Alene Drake. She’s a grad student at the University about to get her Masters in child philosophy or something like that. Alene… Dru.”

That sunburst smile brightened even more as the vision reached out a hand. I took it and sensed the warmness went beyond the mere human temperature.

“Please to meet you, Alene. Been looking forward to it since you’re all Bonnie can talk about.”

Aleen colored slightly and dimpled. “Heard a few things about you too… most of them complementary.”

“You know you can only believe about fifty percent of what she says, don’t you?”

My brother-in-law Chuck entered the room. “Where’s Sam? Isn’t he coming over?”

Alene moved past me toward the living room. “He’s taking some brownies out of the oven. Said we all needed a snack. He’ll be along in a minute.”

We took seats, and I gave this enchanting creature a little more attention than I probably should have, given her husband would pop through the door at any moment bearing sweets and good cheer. That latter probably wouldn’t last long if my thoughts hung all over my face.

Sure enough, the doorbell rang, and Chuck answered, walking back into the room a moment later followed by a young man who nearly knocked me loose from my sanity. I looked back and forth between the newcomer and Alene. They weren’t husband and wife; they were twins. Now my sister’s insistence that I meet Alene made more sense. She was already match-making, even though my wife had only been gone something short of three months.

I rose as Chuck introduced us. Nothing more than “Dru, Sam. Sam, Dru.”

Sam’s handshake was every bit as warm as his sister’s. “Heard a lot about you, Dru. Good to finally meet you.”

“Same. I got a little of Alene’s background, but not yours.”

“Huh? Oh. I’m also at the U. Getting my Masters in finance.” He lifted his hand, fingers a millimeter apart. “This far from the Masters.” He moved the fingers farther apart. “Once I get past the thesis.”

“In?” I asked.

“International finance.”

He was dark-haired, like his sister, but his green eyes were more opal. By that, I mean, an iridescence to them his sister’s lacked. In taking brother and sister in, each had what he or she needed in the eye department. They were identical, exactly alike except Alene was thoroughly and totally feminine, while Sam employed the same features in a completely masculine way.

There was something I didn’t tell you earlier. Remember, I characterized my marriage as “reasonably good. Actually, it was good… except for a couple of times a year. Bill would come down from San Francisco for a few days once or twice a year. And we… well, we got together, just as we had on occasion from way back in our college years.

Don’t get me wrong. Sex with Marianne was great. Fourth of July fireworks great. But Bill? Well, like a special anniversary of the Fourth… like the 200th or some such. Can’t tell you why. That’s just the way it was. No one suspected a thing… except for Marianne. I don’t know how she knew, but she always regarded Bill as a threat. She’d have nothing to do with him and resented the time I devoted to his visits. But there it was. I got something from each of them. Something precious. If I’d had to choose between them, I honestly don’t know what I’d have done.

And now, sitting in my sister’s living room, looking back and forth from twin to twin, I sensed a situation arising. Didn’t know exactly what it’d be yet. But I knew one thing for sure. Unless I headed back to California, things would turn tricky.

****

Sounds to me like Dru’s reached a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. Have you ever experienced such a powerful impact upon a first meeting? I have, and found myself confused.

 How will Dru handle things? Run off with his tail between his legs or stay and try to sort out his feelings? We only have two more installments to find out.

 Stay safe and stay strong.

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

My personal links:

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

See you next Thursday.

 

 Don

 New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time. 

Thursday, May 6, 2021

GWENDOLYN

 dontravis.com blog post #496

 Photo Courtesy of Amazon.com


 
Good reaction to Don Morgan’s look at his novel MIASMA last week. I’m jealous… he got a lot of hits.

 This week, I thought I’d give you a little short fiction piece. I say fiction, but I’ll bet some of you have lived it. Read on.

 ****

GWENDOLYN

Her hair, a bird’s nest of spun gold—untamed yet never messy—girdled a face as heart-shaped as the locket at her breast. Immense green eyes casually observing the world held a hint of mischief. Pert breasts, not huge but adequate. Hips not as broad as some but nicely rounded, and exquisite legs that went on forever.

Gwendolyn was her name, but she became Golden Gwendolyn when I met her in my neighborhood bar. Not a regular. She just happened to drop in, she claimed when I struck up a conversation.

“So did I,” I lied.

“Kismet,” she replied.

I saw her a couple of times after that and bought us both drinks, although she always called it quits after two. Of course, two Long Island Iced Teas were enough for most people. Vodka, gin, rum, tequila, and triple sec was a potent combination.

Then we progressed to coffee on a couple of afternoons. Seems strange that moving from a bar to a coffee house is progress, but the afternoon meetings were deliberate; the evening encounters appeared accidental. But tonight was our first arranged date. I could hardly wait for the boring Friday workday to pass. One of my mom’s favorite expressions was, “Satan, get thee behind me.” Now all I wanted was for the day to get behind me so I could be Satan.

When she stepped out of the apartment house where I picked her up that evening, she was so dazzling, my knees went weak. Taking her gloved hand, I led her to the car. She was dynamite—no, way past that, more like pure nitroglycerin—in a glittering blue and black shaded sheath that hugged her body like a passionate lover. Well, I had news for that dress. It was going to be lying on my bedroom floor before the evening was over. Sweat broke out on my brow at the thought.

As I handed her into the passenger’s seat, she spoke in a low, throaty contralto. “Thank you, Connie. You’re quite the gentleman.”

Normally I’d go on a tear when anyone called me Connie. My name was Conrad, and use of the familiar got my dander up. Not with Gwendolyn. She could call me anything she wanted. I, of course, would never consider calling her Gwen or Gwinnie. She was Gwendolyn… period.

The place I’d chosen for dinner ate up a good bit of my food budget for the month, but this was an all-out, damn-the-torpedoes event! Score time with the most luscious dish I’d laid eyes on in eons. I wasn’t very hungry, but I didn’t want to be so pedestrian as to ask for a carry-out box. She ate daintily as she carried on a witty conversation, but managed to consume it all. This gal was perfect… except, maybe, her hands. They weren’t as long and slender as I imagined they should be. In fact, they were rather broad and blunt. But if that was her major flaw, I could live with it.

I about melted from the inside out when she said yes to a drink in my apartment after dinner. As I killed the car engine in the dimly lighted parking lot at my apartment house, I figured to make my intentions clear before going upstairs. I placed my hand behind her head and pulled her forward for a kiss. A deep, sweet, peppery kiss. And sweet it was. My hands wandered down her smooth back and circled to caress those pert breasts. She wore a padded bra, or so it felt beneath my squeezing fingers, so her bosom must be smaller than imagined. So what? If I could keep looking into those enchanting eyes, nothing else would matter.

My hands moved down to her belly, but she wouldn’t permit me in her groin. That was okay, the point was made.

I saw her out of the car and strolled with my arm about her shoulders into the building and up one flight of stairs. As we entered the apartment, she left her purse on the entry table after rescuing a stick of lip gloss, and followed my directions to the bath. Not wanting to rush things too much, I limited my “getting comfortable” to shrugging out of my sports jacket and stripping off my tie.

Intercepting Gwendolyn as she came out of the bathroom, I pulled her to me and sat on the side of the bed. She didn’t resist, so I sprawled across the mattress, bringing her with me. The kiss was long and sweet. Then I rolled atop her. My libido was raging now, and there could be no mistaking my aim. I ground my groin into hers and moved in for a final kiss before making the move. As my lips touched hers, I brushed her cheek with a hand. What the hell! Raspy? I moved back and noticed a slight lump in her throat. I felt my eyes go wide. This gal was a dude!

I rose to my elbows and started to shout my indignation. But those eyes. I couldn’t get enough of those eyes.

I licked my lips and muttered, “Oh, what the heck!”

She—he smiled broadly as I moved down to those intriguing lips.

 

****

Well, what about it? Anyone get caught in a situation like this? If so, how did you react? I’d be interested in knowing.

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say… so say it!

 A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:

 https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0

 My personal links:

 Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

 See you next Thursday.

 Don

 

New Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.

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