Friday, May 22, 2015

Opportune By Design





                                                              Part I


Like one of Samuel Rumph's prized heirloom Elberta peaches, Hillary was also a Macon County native, only she reeked of a special kind of mayhem that was uniquely indigenous to her. She gave the best blow jobs in Montezuma for just $25 a pop.

Tonight was no different than any other night over at Junior's Flim Flam Room, except Hillary wasn't quite caught up getting her drink on. Rock solid booze buzzes were a prerequisite for fellatio, especially considering the smelly jackasses who frequented that joint. She shuddered, thinking of Jackie Priester and his farty shit-britches. Gawd, he stunk to high heaven. She suspected he was well aware of his vile funk because he always paid her double. Sighing heavily, she redirected her attention to the nearly empty bottle in front of her. One more shot of Jack Daniels, and she'd be good to go.

Hillary's sturdy frame easily accommodated a few extra pounds of whiskey legacy weight, and despite all of her vices, she'd never touched a cigarette, so she still looked pretty good for a broad who'd just turned thirty-six. She really didn't look a day over 32. Regardless of the weather in middle Georgia, her attire never changed: tight skirt, even tighter shirt, no bra, no panties. Oddly enough, that ease of access afforded her a sense of clarity and control. The sweetness of her round face and mess of dirty blonde curls were doll-like, offsetting her overall crudeness. She was at once an eyesore and a sight for sore eyes.

Pete Overholt was the frontman for Lazy Swamp Ambush, Junior's southern blues-rock house band. He sat at the bar, nursing his store bought bottle of mineral water, waiting for the rest of the crew to show up for load in and contemplating Hillary, who was already three sheets to the wind and giving fat Jackie an over-the-pants in a dark corner near the rear exit. Raised to be a proper Montezuman Mennonite, Pete was now an outlaw, an excommunicated ex-husband, still wrestling with the fresh anarchy of his nascent identity. Hillary provided a welcome distraction.

Barely visible in dusky silhouette, Jackie's eyes rolled heavenward as Hillary kneaded his dank junk, her free hand preoccupied with an astonishingly elaborate ritual swiping of lip gloss. The dim red glow coming from the exit sign highlighted her ample décolletage. Fleshy and indignant, her left boob had a habit of working its way out of the flimsy halter top that was struggling to hold it captive, simultaneously alluring and revolting like milk you know damn well is spoiled but you go ahead and taste of it anyway.

Although he'd partaken of Hillary's reasonably priced services on several occasions, Pete couldn't recall if she had a last name. Had he just never thought to ask? Watching Hillary in action, he quickly concluded that both her wardrobe and anonymity were opportune by design, easily forgotten indelible misfortunes, less an oversight than an intentional convenience.

Part II: Proclivity
Part III: Transgression
Part IV: Mayhem
Part V: When In Doubt, Cut It Out
Part VI (conclusion): Dark Horse Heroes



17 comments:

  1. Kris, I can sense the delight you were feeling in putting this raunchy little tale together. The elegance of your language stands in stark contrast to the actions and characters described. I can also sense there's more to come.

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    1. OMG, I have laughed SO hard while writing this. There are grains of truth to all the characters and events.

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  2. Kris,

    I can see you in my mind's eye, sitting in a bar, waiting for the band to play and tapping your pen against the unspoiled tablet of paper. In walks your subject and the words take shape. I rather enjoyed this little jaunt into the seedy nightlife and this character in particular. Well done.

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    1. That's exactly what I'm trying to convey here, Theresa. Telling the story of these strangers' lives.

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  3. You must be at the Clermont Lounge

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    1. Ha, Lisa, now there's a place rife with inspiration!

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  4. The turn of phrase "kneaded his dank junk" is one I hope to come across more often. Well done.
    I also hold "his farty shit-britches" in high regards too, for what it's worth.

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    1. Thanks, Ronnie, glad you enjoyed those. There's plenty more to come :-D

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  5. So first thing I do resurfacing from a self induced coma is to stumble upon this sizzler...And by the time I reach the closing lines I come to a beauty: "alluring and revolting like milk you know damn well is spoiled but you go ahead and taste of it anyway." That smacks of class.

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    1. I have to admit, I thought that line was pretty damn good!

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  6. Sounds like Kermit's favourite dive.
    Great start.

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  7. Whoa!

    What an amazingly written, yet completely seedy post.

    I ... Must...Read.... More !

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    1. Glad you liked it, Scott. There's plenty more ahead.

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  8. “She was at once an eyesore and a sight for sore eyes,” perfect descriptive line! Hillary is a fascinating character, rather like that spoiled milk that you go ahead and taste anyway. Laughed out loud at the image of her applying lip gloss with one hand and “kneading his dank junk” with the other LOL! And her “fleshy and indignant” left boob cascading (by design I'm sure!) out of her flimsy halter top. This is so cleverly written, Kris, great opening!

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    1. Can't you just see Hillary sitting there doing all that while her boob is struggling to free itself from her halter? Hillary is based on someone I know, BTW, a very interesting, vivacious free spirit.

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    2. Even better that Hillary is based on someone you know, what a colorful character, yes, a vivacious free spirit!

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