note: franksolich gets a primitive for Christmas
was written for the BainsBane primitive, 
, with the hopes that she might be pleased with this surprise; after all, not just any
primitive gets a story from franksolich. There‘s also a lesson for in it; women too carnally ogle men, making men uncomfortable about unspoken thoughts and wistful plans. franksolich gets a primitive for Christmas. Having fulfilled all my religious obligations by midnight Christmas Eve, and having informed the neighbor that I wouldn’t coming over for Christmas dinner the next day as I had a cold, and as the
femme was in Omaha spending the holiday with her sister and her family, and as it was bitterly cold, as it had been the past three weeks out here on the eastern fringe of the Sandhills of Nebraska, I figured I’d spend the day in utter solitude, way out here in the middle of nowhere.
It’s not an unhappy prospect, being alone; we deaf tend to be
most lonely when in the company of other people, than when alone.
The cats got their Christmas meal--white chicken meat--about 1:00 a.m., after which I hit the sack.
I arose early Christmas morning, but only for a while. As I was still dragging from a cold, I went back to bed.
I got up again about 11:00 a.m., and went in to take a bath.
When I got done, I reached for a towel, but oops, no towel. The wife of the former caretaker does my laundry for me, and had brought all the clean stuff back to me the day before Christmas Eve; it all was still in the living room, all neatly folded and in stacks.
Oh well, I figured; nobody’s around.
- - - - - - - - -
But when I was standing in the kitchen near the entry to the dining room, I sensed a moving figure over by the front door.
Problem. I’m near-sighted, and without visual aids, I can’t “hear†either. There was one pair of eyeglasses, on the bedside table…..in the bedroom. There was a second pair of eyeglasses, on the coffee-table…..in the living room. The contact-lenses were on top of the buffet…..in the dining room.
I was most concerned because whoever it was, was standing near the dining room table, on which considerable wealth was stacked. I’d done very well with Christmas presents, including for some reason
six music-boxes, four of them antiquities. There was a seventh one there, too, that I’d gotten on Christmas last year, and recently had tried, unsuccessfully, returning to its original owner.
They’re meant to be stored away someplace safe, but I hadn’t had time to decide where.
Anyone who touches these things is a dead man.
- - - - - - - - - -
Still dripping wet, I walked into the dining room and slipped on the contact lenses, one of which took a considerable time getting in.
By the time I was done, it was no longer possible to distract by riveting eye-contact; she was already looking at something else.
It was in fact a she, and I heaved a sigh of relief. With those eyeglasses, with that sour grimace, with that pissy attitude, with that harsh, strident manner, she couldn’t be anything but a primitive. She rather resembled the seabeyond primitive, one of the premier dysmenstrual
femmes on Skins’s island.
And being a primitive, she had no sensibilities or sensitivities one could possibly offend.
“I’m sorry,†I said; “I don’t have a bathrobe. Bathrobes are s-o-o-o-o-o gay.â€
I relaxed, taking my time lighting a cigarette; casual, breezy nonchalance and brazen confidence is usually the best course of action when one’s caught with his pants down…..or off.
However, this backfired, as the primitive
femme was audacious, or curious, or something. She kept staring without comment, and after some very long seconds, perhaps as much as a minute, I began feeling discombobulated; I’m after all not a sex object, and much less so for a primitive.
There’s nothing special about franksolich; I’m just utterly “average†in all departments.
I finally stood behind a chair, my hands on its back, its back shielding my lower parts, but alas noticed I‘m tall enough that it didn‘t cover all.
- - - - - - - - - - -
She was a primitive, all right; she and two others inside the automobile outside were lost.
Like all other idiots from blue states, she’d figured she had Nebraska all figured out.
She’d gotten half of the directions right, though; she was supposed to be at a place two miles south of the highway. But she was supposed to have turned off the highway six miles
east of town, not west.
the end
