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Current Events => The DUmpster => Topic started by: franksolich on July 05, 2014, 07:17:35 PM

Title: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG; complete)
Post by: franksolich on July 05, 2014, 07:17:35 PM
Note: this is a work of fiction, although the characters and events described therein bear remarkable resemblences to people and events in real life; I don’t have the imagination to make this stuff up out of thin air.

This is dedicated to dutch508, for a couple of what should seem obvious reasons.


- - - - - - - - - -

BainsBane spends the night with franksolich.  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” the property caretaker said, as we were driving towards town.

He was driving his pick-up truck; we were pulling the trailer with the boat and other goods abandoned by the Packer clan when they took off so suddenly after hippyhubby Wild Bill’s “baptism” a month ago.  I’d first packed up the stuff shortly thereafter, and left it down by the river, in case Wild Bill decided to come back for it, but he never did, and so I decided to give it all to the wife of the former property caretaker, to sell in one of her frequent garage sales.

The former property caretaker, the old--but much cherished by me--bug-eyed coot, was injured in an automobile accident four years ago, and never recovered enough to return to his job, being replaced by the much-younger current one, a guy in his late 30s.  I hadn’t seen the former caretaker for a while, and I wasn’t going to see him today either, as he’s in physical therapy down in Lincoln right now.

His wife is the town’s busiest snoop and gossip, but one can’t help loving her a lot despite that.

“You forget there’s something different about you,” the caretaker continued; “you have a reputation, and it’s solid, it’s sterling.  No matter how many times you get caught with your hand in the cookie jar, or in some other embarrassing situation such as this most-recent one, you slip out of it as quickly and easily as a pig sliding on ice.

“I heard about you years before I even knew you, and that’s the way it’s always been.

“I wouldn’t worry about it; people might talk a little, but then something new happens with you, and they forget all about the older one.”

“Well, I hope that’s still the case,” I replied; “after all that happened on Saturday with the naked razor-wielding primitives, I’d sure like to have at least a week of peace and quiet.”

- - - - - - - - - -

We reached our destination, and as we got out from the truck, the former caretaker’s wife came out to greet us.

“Here it is, ma’am,” I said, “the whole thing.  Get whatever you can for it; get rid of it.”

“Well, it’s for you,” she replied; “I plan to get the best prices possible.”

“No, don’t worry about that,” I came back; “get whatever, and give it to the church.  Your church or my church, I don’t care.  It’d serve hippyhubby right, given his irrational and unwarranted hatred of God.

“Now, I dunno about the boat motor; it worked the last time it was used.  The boat itself is a licensed object, the problem being that the numbers on its side, according to the department of motor vehicles down in Oklahoma, expired in 1974, and were never renewed.

“The trailer too’s licensed, but that’s a fake plate, the number already assigned to an authentic plate of another trailer somewhere else.

“The trailer’s a home-made thing, but it’s not a boat trailer.  I have no idea what it was built for; maybe to carry four 55-gallon metal drums full of something.  It’s a solid piece, and strong too; it could probably hold sixty tons, if sixty tons were allowed on highways.  Whoever built it, made it so it’d last forever, and never break down.

“The next time I see him, I’ll ask the sheriff if it’s legal to sell the boat and trailer as is, or if I have to do something about getting a good title on them.”

- - - - - - - - - -

The caretaker, the former caretaker’s wife, and I sifted through the boxes inside the boat; cookware, camp gear, odds and ends of hardware such as chain and rope, fishing equipment, Judy grasswire’s little red wagon, and two complete canvas-floored tents.

Among a whole lot of other stuff.

“You know,” I said, “probably most of this was shoplifted, but from where?”

“Or bought with funny money,” the caretaker suggested.

“It’d be useless to try to trace the origins of it all,” I said, “especially given that much of it was probably stolen years and years ago.  I think it all could be sold without qualms.”

“Now, what are these?” the former caretaker’s wife asked, holding aloft a couple of pairs of…..something.

“Oh,” I said, “hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer’s cotton underdrawers; notice the labels advertise a ‘56-inch’ waistline.”

“Good Lord,” the former caretaker’s wife said; “they must get fat down in Oklahoma; there’s nobody that fat around here.”

“Well, somebody might buy them as curiosities,” I suggested.

“For Halloween or something, maybe,” the caretaker added.

“Ew, those are evil-looking machetes on the bottom of the boat,” the former caretaker’s wife commented, pointing.

“Those aren’t machetes,” I said, “and they’re actually worth a great deal more than machetes, having finer and heavier-duty steel for their blades.

“Those are cadaver carvers that Wild Bill purchased at an auction of surplus property of the county coroner’s office.”

“Now, why would anybody from around here want cadaver carvers?” she asked.

“They probably wouldn’t,” I suggested, “but if someone needs to butcher a bison, well, they’re the thing to use.”

- - - - - - - - - -

On the way back here, just before approaching the turn-off, we both spied a figure standing on the outside of an automobile parked on the side of the highway, and the caretaker slowed down.

“Whoa, do you see what I see?” the caretaker asked.

“We’re too far away,” I reminded him, “so don’t jump to conclusions.

“From here, judging by the size of that pair, it could just as well be Atman--that’s the worst case of bilateral hypertrophy that I’ve ever seen.”

to be continued…..sometime next week
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: BattleHymn on July 05, 2014, 10:18:03 PM
Quote
“From here, judging by the size of that pair, it could just as well be Atman--that’s the worst case of bilateral hypertrophy that I’ve ever seen.”

I hope no one loses an eye to one of those horribly disfigured things.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 05, 2014, 10:28:35 PM
I hope no one loses an eye to one of those horribly disfigured things.

By the way, and this pertains to dutch508 in particular because he wanted this story, I encourage comments while a story's in progress.

The last story, no one commented until it was all done and over, and as we all know, the last story was late, very late, in getting done, and it had a weak ending.  This was because while many were reading it, which is good of course, no one was commenting, and I felt adrift, lacking guidance.

<<<always seeks advice and counsel.

In the past, spirited comments and suggestions while a story was in progress made a story better, and it got done sooner.

So no one should think comments "interrupt" a story; they actually help it move along.

 :-)
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: BattleHymn on July 05, 2014, 10:38:28 PM
In the past, spirited comments and suggestions while a story was in progress made a story better, and it got done sooner.

So no one should think comments "interrupt" a story; they actually help it move along.

Thanks for the clarification.  I usually try to keep my comments in the story threads to a minimum until they're finished, as I don't want to feel like I'm interrupting.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 05, 2014, 10:48:49 PM
Thanks for the clarification.  I usually try to keep my comments in the story threads to a minimum until they're finished, as I don't want to feel like I'm interrupting.

Interrupt.  Please.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: dutch508 on July 06, 2014, 01:08:40 PM
PG?


 :argh:


(http://www.thenug.com/sites/default/pub/022814/thenug-F8uqsewaDX.gif)
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 06, 2014, 01:14:30 PM
PG?


 :argh:


(http://www.thenug.com/sites/default/pub/022814/thenug-F8uqsewaDX.gif)

I'll be getting back to this story later in the week.

Right now I'm involved in writing a different one, currently with an "R" rating, that I'm trying to bowdlerize so it meets the "PG" rating, suitable for a general audience, but despite constant refinements and resorting to euphemisms, I don't think it's going to break loose of an "R" rating.

But I'm trying.

First things first, and I'd started this other one before starting this one for you.  As soon as I'm done with the earlier story, I assure you I'll be able to dedicate all of my energies and imagination to this, your story.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: dutch508 on July 06, 2014, 01:17:55 PM
I'll be getting back to this story later in the week.

Right now I'm involved in writing a different one, currently with an "R" rating, that I'm trying to bowdlerize so it meets the "PG" rating, suitable for a general audience, but despite constant refinements and resorting to euphemisms, I don't think it's going to break loose of an "R" rating.

But I'm trying.

First things first, and I'd started this other one before starting this one for you.  As soon as I'm done with the earlier story, I assure you I'll be able to dedicate all of my energies and imagination to this, your story.

I might have to ghostwrite a couple of chapters... I got a feeling Bainesbane might like to be submissive.  :-)
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 06, 2014, 01:23:13 PM
I might have to ghostwrite a couple of chapters... I got a feeling Bainesbane might like to be submissive.  :-)

Thank you!

This is what I mean by comments and suggestions interspersed in a story help improve and enhance the story itself.

You, sir, just gave me the inspiration for a whole chapter about something I'd never considered.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: dutch508 on July 06, 2014, 01:37:12 PM
Thank you!

This is what I mean by comments and suggestions interspersed in a story help improve and enhance the story itself.

You, sir, just gave me the inspiration for a whole chapter about something I'd never considered.

oh, my...

(http://makeameme.org/media/created/oh-my-god-8gg7bo.jpg)

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWWLwtMLWCI[/youtube]

Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 07, 2014, 04:15:44 PM
As we got closer and the caretaker pulled over to the side of the road by the stopped vehicle, we both saw it was a woman standing there.

“Oh my,” I said; “she really sticks out.”

The caretaker turned off the engine of the truck, and merely sat there, his eyes as big as saucers.

The caretaker’s in his mid-30s, and has been around the block a few times, but being younger than I am, hasn’t seen as much as I’ve seen.  Ostensibly rare phenomenons that long ago lost their novelty to me are still new and interesting to him.

After I assumed he’d had enough time to absorb the sight, I said impatiently, “Okay now, let’s find out what’s going on here and what we have to do about it, so we can get going again.  It’s hot and miserable out here.”

Usually in such cases, it’s the person with me who finds out what’s going on, and then relays the information to me, after which any necessary joint action is taken.  It’s not that I’m lazy, or shy about strangers; it’s only that I’m deaf and sometimes misunderstand things.

It uncomplicates life considerably, having someone who gets things right from the start.

We’ve stopped and helped people by the side of the road--this is a good highway, but it’s rarely trafficked--and again, usually in such cases I get out too and stand next to the other person especially if something doesn’t look quite kosher and I’m needed.

But this was a woman, and a woman built in such a way that if she bodily threatened someone, she’d topple over, so I remained inside the air-conditioned cab of the truck while the caretaker got out and approached her.

I guessed it’d take just a couple of minutes, for him to find out what was wrong, to look at things if he had to, and to offer assistance in resolving the issue; people’s cars break down all the time.  After which we’d be on our way again.

However, as I watched, he made no move to open the hood or otherwise inspect the vehicle; he just stood there, animatedly chit-chatting with her.  And staring at something.

Come on, I thought to myself; you’re a married man and can have this sort of thing any time you want it.

I lit a cigarette and waited, fuming.  Then the neighbor in his own pick-up truck came down the highway from the opposite direction.  It looked as if he was just going to wave at us and drive by--there was nothing about the situation to suggest his help was needed--but as he passed, he suddenly braked to a screeching halt and backed up to us, parking on the other side of the road.

He jumped out and rushed over to talk with them.

But even he made no attempt to open the hood or otherwise inspect the vehicle; he just stood there and chit-chatted with them, his eyes riveted on…..something.

Oh come on, I thought.  It was only mid-morning, but we didn’t have all day to just stand around.

Shortly after the neighbor had arrived, the insurance man from town came barreling down the highway from the same direction; he’d obviously been to the big city transacting some business and was on his way home.

He too seemed as if he’d just drive by, but upon getting a closer inspection, stopped and parked his car in front of the neighbor’s truck on the other side of the road.  He got out, walked across the highway, and chit-chatted with them.

Aw, geezuz, I thought; these guys are acting like a bunch of teenagers.

The county sheriff came up from behind, from the direction of town, headed west, and seeing the gathering, stopped, in case his help was needed.  Oh good, I thought; finally we’ll get going, finding out what’s wrong and deciding how to deal with it, after which we could all be on our ways.

But instead, the sheriff simply laughed and joked--and stared--with all the others.

She looked as if she was, uh, rather enjoying the attention.

Just as I was finishing my sixth cigarette in the cab of the truck, someone else drove by, and stopped.  I didn’t know his name, but he was a ranch-hand who sometimes worked in the meadow across the road where I live, and was one of those who keep several cases of beer in an old refrigerator in my garage.

It was a merry group out there, but indifferent about the situation that needed addressed.

I opened the door and got out of the truck, to go over to join them; enough was enough.

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 07, 2014, 09:05:04 PM
Approaching the vehicle, I inspected it closely.  All four tires looked fine, so it wasn’t a flat tire.  There were no dents, so she hadn’t hit a deer.  There was no smoke, so the engine wasn’t on fire or anything.

Opening the hood, I eyeballed the engine, checking all of the fluid-levels and testing the rubber belts.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong here,“ I announced to the crowd; “what’s up?“

“Her transmission’s shot,“ the neighbor told me.

Oh, I said; “I wouldn’t know just by looking at it, the difference between a good transmission and a bad one.

“But at any rate, it’d be an expensive, complicated job; maybe she should just ditch it and buy a new car,” I suggested.

“But she likes this car,” the neighbor said; “she wants it fixed no matter how much it costs.  She’s sentimentally attached to it.”

And there’s probably a bank loan attached to it, too, I thought, so she can’t sell it.

“Well, I guess then it’s best to just have it towed to [the big city], to get it fixed,” I said aloud.

No, I was told; it was already arranged to be fixed in town by Dane, the local automotive mechanic of Norwegian derivation; in fact, he was already on his way out to pick it up.

“But there’s no hotels or motels in town,” I pointed out; “the nearest ones are in [the big city], and so she should go there.  It’d be better,” I added.

She was having her car fixed here, I was reminded.

“Well, maybe she could stay at Madge Petersen’s bed-and-breakfast; it’s a pretty high-class place, that restored Victorian mansion on the north end of town, and Madge is reasonable; probably charges single women traveling alone only thirty bucks for a room, and a good nourishing bacchanalian breakfast in the morning.

“That’s only place the town has, for people passing through who need to spend the night.”

“Can’t,” the sheriff said; “Madge is full up, because of the Hendrik Hansen funeral tomorrow; that was a pretty big family, and they’ve taken up all the rooms there, besides at other people’s houses.”

“And as she doesn’t have any camping gear,” the property caretaker offered, “I think there’s only one possible place she could stay.”

I was sinking fast; it was obvious I was going to be “it.”

And she didn’t seem any more enthusiastic about the idea than I did.

- - - - - - - - - -

I knew what it was, as I’ve dealt with it all my life, a certain negativity about my person.

But really, it’s never been a big deal; people can’t be blamed for being cautious, wary, of strangers, any more than I can be.  And it’s not really me, it’s simply an impression I radiate.

Most can’t articulate what makes them uneasy about me, but essentially, it’s as if looking at an aloof, all-seeing, disapproving, person on the other side of a thick wall of clear glass.  One’s not sure why that is, or what to make of it, and in their uncertainty about me, I make them feel uneasy.

It’s just the deafness, and as I wear my hair long so as to cover up the absence of ears, and am really good at bluffing my way through things about which I know nothing, nobody thinks of that, instead ascribing malicious meanings to what I, speculatively otherwise, am.

With time, most get over it.

One’s speculations about me depend upon one’s personal level of paranoia; self-confident, self-assured people brush it off, “oh, it’s no big deal whatever it is,” while those personally inhibited and insecure think, “oh my God, he’s probably an axe-murderer.”

- - - - - - - - - -

And what seemed particularly relevant here was the sort of person she probably was, what with the Obama/Biden and ABORTION NOW bumper-stickers on her car, along with that silly decal, “Women Need Men Like Fish Need Bicycles.”

One of the screeching banshee she-women, a women’s-libber.

I’d known for a long time that women’s-libbers fear confident, self-assured men--they’re terrified of us--and as I can’t help being the way I am, resigned myself to that there was probably going to be some trouble.

- - - - - - - - - -

The property caretaker drove us to the house, and then went off to do some work for a while, saying he’d be back shortly after lunch.  As she and I walked up the steps to the front porch, she hesitated.

“I know, I know,” I said; “you’re nervous about me.

“To set you straight, madam, I’m utterly uxorious to another femme, which renders all others of no interest to me.  The femme’s the best person I know, the best person I got, and I love her very much.

“And as the femme’ll tell you, I’m perfectly safe; I don’t touch unless asked.

“Never in my life have I ever touched even a hair of a woman who didn’t want to be touched.”

I dunno if that reassured her or not, but anyway, she commented, “Well, I’ve heard about all sorts of strange goings-on around this place…..old hippies romping and playing, people running around naked, big all-night parties and wild boozing, rapacious men chasing wanton women, witchcraftery, and to top it off, you’re having a whole lot of carnies coming here to camp during the county fair in a few weeks.”

Oh now, I said; “the carnies are staying here because this property’s the only property available in the whole county, where one can consume alcoholic beverages.  Booze is illegal on all governmentally-owned property, which is mostly parks and campgrounds, and other private-property owners and tenants don’t like being intruded upon.

“Rumors, slanders, lies, all of these stories you‘ve been told,” I reassured her; “this is out in the middle of nowhere, and people rarely come by.  The only action that takes place here are birds soaring through the skies, deer grazing in the woods, fish swimming in the river, and the cats either hunting or slumbering in the flora that grows on the William Rivers Pitt.

“In fact, it’s so dull and uneventful out here you’re probably going to get bored to death.”

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 08, 2014, 09:57:45 PM
When we went inside the house, I suggested I’d first show her around, after which we’d have lunch; “I’m not sure what we could do after that, but when [the property caretaker] comes back, we’ll figure out something.“

“Wow, don‘t think I‘m being impolite or anything,” she said, “but there’s hardly anything here, unless you have the television, the radio, the stereo, the videocassette player, or the digital video player, hidden in the walls.  And the computer doesn’t even have loud-speakers or sound on it.

“And that’s an odd-looking telephone.

“There’s nothing to listen to here.”

I let the whinery--she was polite enough to not make her complaints real obvious, but they were there--pass, and was courteous enough to illuminate her that if she wished to use the telephone and the red light was on, to first turn it off.

“You’ll notice that all four rooms in this house, which doesn’t include the bathroom, are each 26’x32’; there were once seven rooms here, but some walls were taken down, probably during the 1960s.  And the ceilings, as you can see, are pretty high.

“Here’s the bedroom, which you’ll take for the night--because of the weather, I’ll sleep out on the front porch--”

She didn’t seem impressed by the interior decoration.  “There’s hardly anything in this bedroom, just a single-sized bed, a bed-side table, a dresser, and an old upholstered armed chair.

“You’ve got a couch, a recliner, a floor-lamp, and bookshelves in the living room.

“The kitchen’s got nothing in it; no microwave oven, no automatic dishwasher, no television, no telephone, the only small appliance being a blender--just what looks to be miles and miles of empty countertop space--”

“It’s easier to keep clean,” I interrupted, bringing her back into the dining room, which we’d first entered when coming inside the house.

- - - - - - - - - -

The dining room was crowded, with a 1920s Sears, Roebuck buffet that had the telephone on it, and a 1920s Sears, Roebuck dining room table with all its leaves in place, extending it so it’d seat sixteen, seven on each side and one at each end.

The table was mostly occupied with piles of newly-washed and folded laundry, shirts, shorts, pants, towels, sheets, those sorts of things.

“[the former property caretaker’s wife] does the laundry,” I explained; “she picks it up every Tuesday afternoon, and brings it back every Friday morning.  If I’m not around, she puts it here for me to put it away.”

“But you haven’t,” she said.

“Well, you know,” I shrugged, “a guy, single, the only one who lives here; it just doesn’t seem important.”

- - - - - - - - - -


She looked from the dining room back over into the living room.  The computer sits on a 6‘x6‘ table in an alcove between the two rooms.  “This is more like living in a solarium than in a house.”

“Not quite,” I pointed out, “although there’s a lot more windows, and bigger windows, than what one’d expect in a house.  The old caretaker some years ago measured, and told me that the outer walls are 43% windows.

“The old woman who lived here before I did was going blind, but she could still differentiate between light and darkness, and apparently it solaced her greatly, being able to see when it was day-time.”

“But,” she said, “you have no shades, curtains, or draperies, nothing at all covering the windows.”

“Oh, there were roll-down window-shades when I first moved in here nine years ago,” I explained, “but I took them down.

“I’ve always been hostile about window-shades; they remind me of coarse, slatternly people from my childhood, people with no class.  Such shades were usually yellowed, curling, and torn, and if pulled down, from the outside it was obvious something not decent and civilized was taking place inside.

“Brrrr,” I shivered.  “That appearance of trying to hide something always made me think it was something sinister, and I didn’t like it.

“After taking the shades down, I figured I’d pick up draperies at thrift-stores in [the big city], but I never got around to it.

“But anyway,” I concluded, “at least the bathroom, where shielding the inside’s necessary, it’s not windows, but those six-inch frosted glass ’bricks,’ and they do good at obscuring what’s inside.”

“The other rooms, though,” she insisted, “people outside can look right in, and see what’s in here…..or what’s going on.  Everything’s all out in the open.  What about if one wants privacy during times of intimacy?”

Oh, I said; “hopping around in the sack, you mean.

“We’re way out here in the middle of nowhere; there’s nobody else around to see anything.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Then we finally went back into the kitchen, as I’d suggested we have lunch.

“I’m not a cook, and so we’ll each have to fend for ourselves, but whatever’s here, feel free,” I said.

“Let me look first, but I could make you a sandwich, maybe,” she replied, the first thoughtful comment she’d made.

She looked inside the institutional-sized refrigerator, in which she saw the right half was packed full.

“But these are all dairy products,” she said; “milk and more milk and yet more milk, orange juice and more orange juice, all sorts of cheeses, quarts and half gallons of sour cream, big blocks of butter, dozens of eggs, cases of yogurt--”

I know, I know, I said; “I’m the dairyman’s best friend.

“Probably the stuff in the left half’ll interest you more.

“People are always coming out here to cook and barbeque and party, and they leave the leftovers.”

She looked.  “But there’s no kale, no quinoa, no tofu, no shitcakes, no curry, no gluten-free pasta, other healthy foods, but I guess I can make something for lunch out of all of this.”

- - - - - - - - - -

She looked at my plate, on which was a sprig of parsley and a single potato chip.

“No,” she said; “that’s your dinner?”

“Lunch,” I corrected her; “it’s my lunch.  We’re not having any dinner today, and we’ll be going to the bar in town for supper.

“It’s too hot to eat much, and digesting a heavy stomach raises the body temperature considerably.”

“That’s all you’re having?”

“No, not quite,” I assured her.  “And I’ll eat more this evening, at supper.”

She watched as I took a two-quart flower vase out of the cupboard, filled it with ice, and then dumped whole milk into it.  Anticipating her next comment, I pre-empted, “well, there really aren’t any other suitable containers available, for those of us who like milk.

“They’re always either those super-sized insulated convenience-store mugs, or heavy clumsy things like tankards or steins.”

I looked at what she had on her plate, collected from the left side of the refrigerator, the leftovers.

It was stacked with chocolate brownies, chocolate éclairs, chocolate cake, chocolate zucchini bread, chocolate mousse, chocolate fudge, chocolate truffles, chocolate sour cream banana bread, chocolate-covered strawberries, black-bean-and-chocolate chili, chocolate walnut biscotti, chocolate ganache, chocolate cream meringue pie, chocolate macaroni-and-cheese, among other things.

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Ptarmigan on July 08, 2014, 10:08:48 PM
I need mind bleach! :puke:
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 08, 2014, 10:36:49 PM
I need mind bleach! :puke:

Oh now, I think it's a pretty clean story--so far--and perfectly suitable for reading to small children.  So far.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: dutch508 on July 08, 2014, 11:16:41 PM
Oh, for ****s face. Where is the nipple licking, Frank? NIPPLE LICKING!!!

It's not porn until someone's gawddammed nipples get mother ****ing licked!

So far I am not giving even one swarm of hottie totties.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: GOBUCKS on July 09, 2014, 12:59:14 AM
Oh, for ****s face.

Blast from the past!

Does anyone remember the OET classic, "Tombstone me, Andrea! For ****'s face, tombstone me!"?
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: tanstaafl on July 09, 2014, 01:35:53 AM
Blast from the past!

Does anyone remember the OET classic, "Tombstone me, Andrea! For ****'s face, tombstone me!"?

Classic.

Aaah. Good times. Good times.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Big Dog on July 09, 2014, 07:43:19 AM
“Let me look first, but I could make you a sandwich, maybe,” she replied, the first thoughtful comment she’d made.

Well played, sir.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 09, 2014, 09:00:29 AM
Well played, sir.

You know, I'm writing this as I go along.  I have no idea how it's going to end.

Because it's for dutch508, I want it to be really good, professional-level; something that, after it's all done, he'll be so impressed he'll print out copies to give to friends.

There's a problem however, with the primitive character--a primitive selected by dutch508, not by me.

You write; you know how it is, when it comes to how personal feelings affect how the writer writes about the main character, or in this case, the main primitive character.

While I sneer at her silly snobbery in thinking she's bright and we're not, and while I think she misdirects her anger at the wrong targets, on the whole, I got nothing against BainsBane, and thus this being a "PG" story.

I don't care that much for her, but at the time time I don't loathe and detest her.

For an "R" rated story, it has to involve a primitive about whom I have awesomely negative feelings.

You weren't around when I wrote "Warpy seduces franksolich," probably the dirtiest, filthiest, raunchiest, most obscene, most vulgar, most pornographic thing I've ever written in my life.  That was a few years ago; it's still posted here, but I'm not going to link to it.  It was foul.

And it was such a delight to write, because Ms. Hindenberg's utterly devoid of any human merit; she's just a crude coarse uncouth ugly pissy smelly man-hating abortion-lover.

BainsBane is Mother Theresa, compared with the defrocked warped primitive--and so it's impossible for me to give her the Warpy treatment.

However, I hope that sheer literary merit will make up for the presence of only light pornography in this story.

- - - - - - - - - -

Now, in about four weeks, the carnies will be camping here (really, truly; for the third summer in a row), and that's probably going to end up, uh, somewhat explicit, probably something more like what dutch508 wants from this story--an "R" story for sure--because one of the chapters is "redqueen hops around in the sack with franksolich," and we all know how I feel about the redqueen primitive.....
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Gina on July 09, 2014, 09:26:52 AM
Ew Frank.  The title alone just made me chortle vomit. :hammer:
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Chris_ on July 09, 2014, 09:44:32 AM
She looked.  “But there’s no kale, no quinoa, no tofu, no shitcakes, no curry, no gluten-free pasta, other healthy foods, but I guess I can make something for lunch out of all of this.”
:rofl:
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: dutch508 on July 09, 2014, 10:08:09 AM
(http://ts4.mm.bing.net/th?id=HN.608008103350109771&pid=15.1&P=0)
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 09, 2014, 12:41:22 PM
She thought we should eat in the kitchen, but I disagreed, and we ate in the dining room, she seated at the far end of the table, and myself at the opposite end near the kitchen, about twenty feet away.

The piles of laundry stacked on the table created a hindrance in communication, though, because there was several weeks,’ and not just one week’s, cleaned clothes there, and they towered.

“What made you decide to live out here?” she asked.

Not seeing her so that I could "hear" her, I had no idea she was saying anything.

She repeated the question, evoking no response.

Then she shifted her chair over, so as to stick her head around the stacks of clothes and look at me in the face.

“What made you decide to live out here?”

Oh.  I answered her question, after which she asked another one, but having returned her head to where it’d been, I couldn’t see her say anything, and so ignored her.

Finally she got a clue; she had no idea why, but apparently I had to see her face before I was willing to listen to her, and respond.  Of course, she didn’t know I’m deaf, and as I’m leery of people strange to me knowing that, I had no intention of illuminating her.

Besides, she’d figured out what to do without knowing why anyway, so the matter was resolved.

After a while, she made it easier on herself; rather than shifting her chair and looking around to me, she merely raised an arm up into the air, and wiggle-waggled her hand; at my end, it looked very much like the periscope of a submarine breaking through the surface of the water, and I was the one who shifted and looked around the corner of the clothing, to see what she was saying.

- - - - - - - - - -

The property caretaker came back about the time we were finishing our lunch, and announced he was done working for the day, even though it wasn’t even one o’clock in the afternoon yet.

“It’s hot, and the water’s cool,” he said; “why don’t we go swimming in the river?”

My blood ran cold.  “No, we can’t do that,” I insisted, hastily.

“Maybe she doesn’t have a swimming suit in her luggage, and I don’t have swimming trunks anyway.”

He looked at me, puzzled.  “That never stopped you before--”

I knew what was up; the three of us would go down to the river, and after playing around a bit, the two of them would get going hot and heavy, and being a nice guy, I’d excuse myself and go away.

After which there’d be trouble, when his wife found out.  I had no idea how she’d find out--only that I wouldn’t be the one to broadcast it--as to me, hearing people seem to have some sort of magical talent for picking up information out of thin air without actually hearing anything.

I made an alternative suggestion which she liked and to which he agreed, and they left.

- - - - - - - - - -

I’d stayed, because I had work to do here, but I hadn’t gotten much done before the neighbor’s wife drove up into the front yard.  She was alone, all five children at the swimming pool in town.

“I’m very sorry what happened to you Saturday morning,” she said; “did it hurt?”

Without answering, I changed the subject, illuminating her that I had a guest for the coming night, giving her all the details of how it’d come to be.

The neighbor’s wife is 38 years old, and a very good friend of mine.  She was born and raised in a suburb of Kansas City, Missouri, after which she went to college to become a dental hygienist.  While working in Omaha, she met the neighbor there, and got married. 

They moved up here, his own place and people, because he wanted to farm, and an opportunity--the demise of an uncle--presented itself.  She quit cleaning teeth and instead began keeping house and raising children; they have 12-year-old twin daughters, an 11-year-old son, a 6-year-old son, and a 2-year-old daughter.

And surprisingly for one from an urban suburban background, she developed a talent with horses, which is now a full-time hobby of hers.  It keeps her fit-and-trim; despite the bearance of five infants, her waist still measures only twenty-five-and-a-half inches.

She’s a very well-proportioned woman, including her upper shelf, where they’re about the size of cut-in-half cantaloupes.

While the two of us sat on the front porch, out of the afternoon sun, I asked, “You know, is there something wrong with me?  Is there something missing in me?  Is there something weird about me?  Is there something deviant about me?  Am I queer or something?

“I.....just.....don’t.....get.....turned.....on.....by.....monster.....jugs.

“They ruin a woman’s proportionality, and if they’re really big, like these, they’re just grotesque.

“I don’t understand it; all other men who’ve seen her have gone ga-ga over them, but me, I can’t even stand to look at them.

“Is something wrong with me, like maybe I’m not a real man or something?

“I.....just.....don’t.....get.....turned.....on.....by.....monster.....jugs.

“And despite that she thinks rather highly of herself, I feel sorry for her, being burdened with such a monstrous birth-defect; surely it’s made her life more difficult than it has to be.

“You know what gets me,” I continued rambling; “okay, so she’s a desk-sitting governmental bureaucrat, which means she has five-star, top-notch, first-class, pays-everything, medical insurance.

“This is a correctable birth defect; it can be ameliorated.

“And once it’s taken care of, it’ll change her life for the better.

“What does one suppose is stopping her from going to a physician and saying, ’okay, take about three-quarters off of each one’?  I don‘t get it.”

to be continued

Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Wineslob on July 09, 2014, 05:09:22 PM
I'm waiting for the milk bath.    :naughty:
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 09, 2014, 05:52:11 PM
The business partner came over after the neighbor’s wife left, as he had some work that needed done, and needed to pick up other work already done.

“I heard you had a problem the other morning,” he said; “did they use a straight-edge, or electric?”

I ignored the question and immediately told him that I had an unexpected visitor for the night, and described her.

“Where is she now?  I’d like to see them--, er, her,” he said.

Sure you would, I thought to myself.

“I’m not sure exactly where they’re at right now, but [the property caretaker]’d suggested we all go swimming, but I tell you, the way other people gape and stare at her--and he’s been the worst of the lot, since he first laid eyes upon her--I didn’t think that was such a good idea.

“You know how everybody acts, when down there swimming.”

The property caretaker is well-known for his personal integrity.  In his mid-30s, a married man (but no children), a veteran of the U.S. Navy, a hard and conscientious worker, a good neighbor, a friend to all those in need.  All that he has, he owns; he doesn’t owe any bank or even his father-in-law, a dime.

However, as his wife commented to me one time when she was angry with him, once he takes his clothes off, he can become quite a clown.

“And here, she’s a screeching banshee she-woman; imagine what she’d think.

“She’s a primitive, and primitives get insulted and indignant real easily; they have no sense of humor.

“And too, she’s a women’s-libber, and when there’s not a reason for a grievance, they create one out of thin air anyway.

“It’d be hazardous; she’d accuse him of trying to have her without her consent or something, and as you know, everybody always believes the woman.

“So anyway, so as to keep any mischief from happening, I suggested that since she’s never seen this area, since she has no idea what Nebraska’s like--the parts outsiders never see--he instead take her for a leisurely country ride, showing off all the places he care-takes, the rivers, the flora, the fauna, the vast panoramic vista of the Sandhills.

“That’d keep any, uh, anything, from happening between them.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Just then, the telephone rang.  It has a red-white-and-blue blinking light that indicates it’s ringing, but we were in the kitchen, and the telephone’s in the dining room, so I had no idea.

The business partner heard it, though, and went to answer it.

When he came back, he announced, “that was Dane, down at his repair shop.  He says he’s having trouble getting one part, and so the car won’t be ready in the morning.

“It’ll however be ready the day after tomorrow.

“It looks like you’ll have her for not one night, but two nights.

“Good luck.

“I’ll be at the bar tonight, to join you.  I want to take a look at them--er, her.”

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 05:36:47 AM
I managed to get more work done after the business partner left--this was brain work, not manual work--until the femme showed up from the big city, with two of her friends.  They were going to join us for supper at the bar in town.

One of the femme’s friends, unaware that one can read lips even if from across the room, asked her, “aren’t you worried about that sort of woman spending the night with him?”

No, not at all, the femme said; “big boobs don’t excite him any more than they’d animate a dead fish.

"They should get along fine; given what she is, she wants to be valued for her mind, not ogled for her body."

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 11:26:43 AM
She and the property caretaker finally got back, but she being hot and sweaty, had to first freshen up.

I stood at the doorway of the bathroom, an arm upraised and an elbow propped against the frame, as she dried her face.  I was also looking for something; if she had those little bite-marks on covered parts of her body, it was likely she’d have at least a few others on her neck and face.  “Well,” I finally asked, “did you two have a good time?

“And if you don’t mind telling, what is it, exactly, that you did?”

“Oh, we just rode around, and he showed me all sorts of interesting things.”

“Such as?” I asked with a growing trepidation.

“The Sandhills, of course,” she answered; “the hills, the valleys, the rivers, the birds, the cattle, the bison, the llamas, the horses, the deer, the prairie dogs, and I got some great pictures of flocks of bald eagles.

“It looks so empty out here, but there’s more out here than what’s in Minneapolis.”

She was avoiding my question.  “But what was it that you did out there?” I asked again.

“Oh, we explored some things--”

My face turned white.

“And we ran around and laid in the grass--”

My hair stood on end.

“We played,” she said; “he’s such a funny guy.”

My blood ran cold.

I was aghast.  As soon as she could, she was going to report the property caretaker for harassment at least, having her against her will at most, and she being who she was, people were going to believe her, not him.

Leading to the foul ruination of a man, his reputation, and a marriage just because she‘s a lying bitch who enjoys making life miserable for men.

“And then the children--”

Whoa, I said, what children?

“Oh, we’d gone to your neighbor’s house, and the children wanted to come along, so we took them.  Evrybody had lots and lots of fun.”

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 11:45:48 AM
*****ANNOUNCEMENT FROM franksolich*****

My apologies for the short, jerky chapters, but I'm in-and-out of here, waiting for the imminent denouement of a Great Tragedy in real life.   All I can do is sit and wait.

BainsBane and her sister shrieking she-women swarmettes don't need to worry about it; it affects franksolich only distantly, peripherally.

My bitch is that I predicted this would happen.....thirty years ago, and nobody paid any attention.

Thirty years, twenty years, ten years, five years, a year ago, six months ago.....

Nobody paid any heed.

There's a lesson in this for primitives; ignore the advice and counsel of franksolich at your own peril.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 02:28:14 PM
When we walked into the bar, I noticed Swede--he’s the husband of the owner--the cook of Norwegian derivation whose specialty is Italianate cuisine, was working this evening.  He saw us at the same time, grimacing at me, and smiling at her.

He shoved the waitress aside and come over to take our order.

“So…..I heard you had a lady barber last weekend; how was she?”

I ignored the query and ordered my usual, a hamburger well done, pressed down hard on the grill so as to squeeze out every drop of grease, french fries cooked on the grill instead of in the fryer, and a side-dish of sour cream.

We were at the big round table where all everybody was--the femme, her two friends, the property caretaker and his wife, the business partner--and Swede went over to her to take her order.  But rather than simply standing there, pad and pen in hand, he pulled up a chair so as to sit closely beside her and discuss each item on the menu.

She finally decided upon insalata caprese, strolghino, agghiotta di lumache, buccellato, grissini torinesi, gnocchi di semolina, penne all'arrabbiata, spaghetti alla carbonara, risotto di seppie alla veneziana, acciughe fritte in pastella, impanata di pesce spada, cotechino friulano, asparagi bianchi e verdi, formai de mut, ricotta affumicata, and for dessert, torta caprese.

Swede beamed.  As he passed me, his back being turned to her, he cupped his hands and extended his arms out from his chest, grinning and silently whistling.

There was much chit-chattery and gib-gabbery and mumble-jumbery going on, but as it was too many people, I didn’t bother trying to decipher anything that was being said.

The business partner and I found ourselves being shoved further away as others came into the bar, took chairs, and made places for themselves at our table.

Finally I said to him, “you know, this is really odd.  This is Monday evening.  Mondays here excepting during football season make a nursing home at midnight seem lively and animated.  Why do you suppose this time, though, the place is packed?”

“Maybe they’re coming in to look at something--er, see somebody,” he said. 

- - - - - - - - - -

When she got up in the morning--she’d taken the news of being delayed here one day further rather too well, I thought--she poured herself a cup of coffee and came out to the back porch to join me.

I was sitting there smoking a cigarette, but instead of my usual nocturnal unattire, was covered from head-to-ankle in a union suit, with long underwear underneath.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“I get the impression you resent having me here, but I was invited to be here, and it’s not my fault there’s a delay in getting the car fixed.”

Oh, no, I assured her; “it’s not your fault, and this is the only place you could be.

“But I on the other hand get the impression--it’s rather hard to miss, madam--that you don’t like me very much, despite that I’m the only person around here who’s treated you with respect, keeping my eyes off your body, and appreciating you for your mind instead.

“You know,” I said, snuffing out my cigarette, “you don’t have to like me, but you could at least be indifferent to me, rather than hostile to me.”

“Oh, but I do like you,” she said; “I like you very much.”

Being a primitive, of course she was lying; it’s second nature to them.

“Well, whatever,” I said, “but I need to tell you something.

“Remember Romeo, from last night?”  I was hoping she hadn’t gotten too tanked, because it was important that she remember Romeo, which is his nickname, not his real name.

“I know Romeo like the back of my hand,” I told her; “and while Romeo’s a good friend of mine, I need to warn you about him.

“Romeo’s one of the ranch-hands who works across the road, and keeps beer in one of the refrigerators in the garage here, for days when it’s hot.  He’s unmarried, and makes good bucks because he’s a hard worker.  Also, women tend to be attracted to him.

“But let me tell you, Romeo’s no good for women.  He’s a tomcat, who uses women once, and then drops them.  ‘A woman’s got one shot with me,’ he says, ‘and if she doesn’t pass the first time, there’s not going to be a second time.’

“No woman’s ever had a second time with Romeo, none’s been good enough for him, he says.

“Romeo’s a nice guy, a real charmer, but when it comes to women, he’s a real rectal aperture.

“He wants women only for their bodies, nothing more.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” she contradicted me; “he was admiring my mind all last night.”

She’d been drunk out of her gourd last night; she had no idea.

“In fact, we’re going out again this afternoon, because he wants to talk more.”

I arched my eyebrows, saying nothing.

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 08:41:43 PM
“I saw that,” she said.  “You think men are pigs.”

I arched my eyebrows again.   â€œWell then, madam, we agree on something.

“Myself being a man, I suppose I know what men are.”

“I can’t believe you really said that,” she came back.

“But whoop-whoop-whoop-de-do,” I said; “I have no idea what women are, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t anything better than pigs.

“There’s no nobility in women that’s anything higher than nobility in a man.  Both men and women are crude bestial savages with a veneer of decency covering them; strip away that outer skin, and we’re all beasts.

“At heart, at the core, men want to **** women every opportunity they get, and women want to be ****ed every chance they have.

“However, to get along with others--and we’re all sociable animals--it’s necessary to have a veneer of decency; it could be onion-skin paper-thick, cardboard-thick, brick-thick.  It’s created from what we’re taught, in the matter of getting along.

“Bill Clinton and franksolich are exactly, precisely, the same, underneath our veneers; we’re both yowling tomcats, with an insatiable lust for ****ing women.

“What’s different is that while one can’t control one’s feelings, one can control one’s conduct.

“And so we have Bill Clinton with a very thin, nearly-eroded veneer of decent and civilized behavior, and franksolich with a nearly-impenetrable veneer of conduct--although it’s still only a veneer.

“My lust for women, madam, is the same passionate intensity as his, but as I told you when you first came here, in my whole entire life I’ve never made advances on any woman who didn’t want them, I’ve never lifted my hand against a woman--I’ve never even called a woman, either to her face or behind her back, any of those coarse ’names’ that seem to proliferate today.

“The gallantry’s only a veneer, but it’s obviously a thick and tough one, and thus far hasn’t shown any signs of wearing off.

“Admit it, madam--despite your protestations about being liked for your mind, your personality, your character, your whatever, at heart, you really just want to be ****ed.”

to be continued

Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 10, 2014, 10:07:21 PM
She opened her mouth to protest, but I wouldn’t have it.

“Look, madam, I’ve spent my life having to judge people by what they do, rather than what they say--”

Oooops.

I was getting into dangerous territory; since she was a stranger to me, I didn’t want her to know I’m deaf, and thus involuntarily have to be this way.  And thus far the masquerade had worked; she wasn’t all that perceptive, and perhaps thought I was just stupid.

Which was fine with me, because she didn’t count anyway.

“People’s mouths can of course lie, but their actions, their conduct, betrays the truth.

“So…..I’ve been watching you.  You’ve been doing all this talk about wanting men to like you for your mind, but at the same time you’ve been asking for sex.

“You know your, uh, most unusual attributes are a magnet to men, a big turn-on, and so you show them off, flaunt them, jiggle them around, to get their carnal juices flowing.

“And because you know something about advertising and ‘target markets,’, you make a special effort to attract the ‘most likely’ marks, in this case shallow men who can’t see beyond skin and fat.

“It’s no wonder you think men are pigs, because you’re looking only for the biggest loutiest pigs among men; decent and civilized men for whom the sight means nothing, well, they’re of no interest to you.

“You really only want sex, and you blatantly use certain, uh, features to get it.”

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Wineslob on July 11, 2014, 10:10:04 AM
Well, finally PG.


 :-)
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 11, 2014, 10:42:28 AM
Well, finally PG.

 :-)

Uh huh, but there’s problems.  I’m sure God intends for me to write this story, but the Devil keeps interfering.  The death-watch in real life continues (I’ll write about it after it’s over), but as there’s nothing I can do, and as I’m geographically far away, all I can do is sit and wait.

All I can do is feed the cats, vacuum the floors, read books, scrub the ceilings, change the air in the tires of the automobile, and…..write.  Anything, anything at all, so as to not just sit here and twiddle the thumbs.

But anyway, unless it’s already obvious, an important point of this story of BainsBane is how a deaf person sees other people, and how that perception frequently conflicts with perceptions of hearing people.

We have to judge people by how they act; hearing people judge people by what they say about themselves.

And since many people say one thing and do another thing, well, there’s contradictions.

BainsBane wants men to like her for her brains--and yes, she does have some--but her actions belie that, in her use of certain, uh, attributes to attract the notice and attention of those same men least likely to be interested in her brains at all.

What does she really want?
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: Wineslob on July 11, 2014, 01:07:32 PM
Uh huh, but there’s problems.  I’m sure God intends for me to write this story, but the Devil keeps interfering.  The death-watch in real life continues (I’ll write about it after it’s over), but as there’s nothing I can do, and as I’m geographically far away, all I can do is sit and wait.

All I can do is feed the cats, vacuum the floors, read books, scrub the ceilings, change the air in the tires of the automobile, and…..write.  Anything, anything at all, so as to not just sit here and twiddle the thumbs.

But anyway, unless it’s already obvious, an important point of this story of BainsBane is how a deaf person sees other people, and how that perception frequently conflicts with perceptions of hearing people.

We have to judge people by how they act; hearing people judge people by what they say about themselves.

And since many people say one thing and do another thing, well, there’s contradictions.

BainsBane wants men to like her for her brains--and yes, she does have some--but her actions belie that, in her use of certain, uh, attributes to attract the notice and attention of those same men least likely to be interested in her brains at all.

What does she really want?


  Sorry to hear about the life issue. Tough time and been there, done that.

My neighbors soon-to-be-ex-wife is the same way. Drop-dead beautiful, and, I may add, built the way you like women built. She'll complain that "all men want to do is **** me" but most certainly dresses and acts like she wants them to. She's an attention whore.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 11, 2014, 01:14:09 PM
My neighbors soon-to-be-ex-wife is the same way. Drop-dead beautiful, and, I may add, built the way you like women built. She'll complain that "all men want to do is **** me" but most certainly dresses and acts like she wants them to. She's an attention whore.

It's gotten ridiculous.

Nowadays, when a woman says "I want to be admired for my brain, not my looks," one automatically knows she wants to hop around in the sack.

On the other hand, decent and civilized women don't talk about how they want to be admired; they just allow the sight-seer to make his own decisions about what he's going to admire--and usually what he admires is what the woman wanted admired in the first place.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: GOBUCKS on July 11, 2014, 01:16:48 PM
Quote
She'll complain that "all men want to do is **** me"

Good info for men who wonder how women talk among themselves.

Well, DUmp women, at least.
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 11, 2014, 03:07:38 PM
Afraid I might be pushing too hard, and since I wasn’t going to convince her anyway, I changed the subject, suggesting we get dressed and take a drive out into the country.  She’d already seen the Sandhills part with the property caretaker and the neighbor‘s children, and I wanted her to eyeball the farming part.

As we were walking to my car, I hollered for the cats, who of course came, all agog and excited.

“What are you doing?” she asked.  “Cats don’t like to ride in cars.  Everybody knows that.”

“These cats like to ride in a car,” I said.  “In fact, they make a fuss when I don’t take them with me all the time.”

After which we drove to the highway, the cats in the back sticking their heads and noses out of the half-opened windows, their tongues hanging out, to catch the breeze.

“That is really unusual,” she said.  “Why do these cats like it?”

“When I first came here nine years ago,” I explained, “there were cats here.

“I grew up with dogs, and knew how to handle dogs.  Cats were new to me.

“Not knowing what else to do, I trained the cats as if they were dogs.

“They love playing ‘fetch’ with a frisbee.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Somewhere way out in the middle of nowhere--but a “nowhere” covered with verdant green foliage rather than the yellow-grey found in the Sandhills--we came across a stand by the side of the road, FRUITS AND VEGETABLES FOR SALE.

Underneath that large sign, there was a smaller sign, advertising TODAY: DOLLAR DAY.

I slammed on the brakes.  “I need some stuff,” I said.

“But it must be closed,” she insisted; “there’s nobody around.”

“Nobody has to be around,” I assured her; "it’s self-service.

“One picks out what one wants, and puts the money into the coffee-can--”

“You’re kidding me,” she said.  “They leave the stand and the money unwatched?”

“The family all works during the day; they don’t have time to stand around waiting for people.

“It’s easier; they just collect the receipts at the end of the day, and early in the morning before heading to work, they restock the merchandise.”

She looked at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.

“This is red America,” I said, “not blue America, where people emulate their politicians and steal what they can, as much as they can.  It‘s perfectly safe.”

- - - - - - - - - -

She did seem impressed by the goods and the prices.

Everything was a dollar; a dollar for twelve tomatoes, a dollar for a quart of strawberries, a dollar for thirteen ears of sweet corn, a dollar for a dozen peaches, a dollar for two watermelons, a dollar for three cantaloupes, a dollar for ten cucumbers, a dollar for two dozen eggs, a dollar for a pound and a half of asparagus, a dollar for ten bundles of radishes, and so on.

“Fresh things spoil fast, so they have to be sold fast,” I told her; “and they’re sold faster if they’re reasonably priced.”

I made my choices, and pulled out a $10-bill to pay for them, which were nine bucks, total.

Looking inside the coffee can, I said, “ooops; there’s eighteen twenties, seven tens, fourteen fives, and a bunch of personal checks in here.  No ones.

“Pick out another something to make it an even ten,” I said, jamming the bill inside the can.

- - - - - - - - - -

When we got back here, lover-boy Romeo was already waiting.

“I can hardly wait to explore…..your mind,” he smiled.

Speaking where he couldn’t hear me, I reminded her, “you know, you don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to.  I can invent an excuse.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, and they took off.

- - - - - - - - - -

Having nothing in particular to do, I went to town to see Dane, the automotive mechanic of Norwegian derivation, who was working on her car.

Finn, the town cop, also of Norwegian derivation, was also there, and grinned when he saw me.

“I heard you had a close shave last Saturday.”

to be continued
Title: Re: BainsBane spends the night with franksolich (rated: PG)
Post by: franksolich on July 15, 2014, 09:30:54 AM
“Oh my,” she said, admiringly.  “You’re so very big.

“I thought only black men had them that big.”

He brushed it closer to her face.

“And oh my,” she added; “it’s really clean; it’s probably the cleanest one I’ve ever seen.

“Men who weren’t snipped, when the skin retracts, there’s all sorts of nasty-smelling crud underneath.”

He smiled.  “I can hardly wait to get it into you, babe, but not right now.”

They were laying in the back of Romeo’s pick-up truck out in the middle of nowhere.

He hadn’t yet pulled down her pants, but her top was long gone, and he’d already spent several minutes sucking on the two prominent parts; not the nipples, but the flesh that comprised them.  There’d been a lot of ground to cover, and as he gotten done with one, he flopped it over to the side, to start on the other one.

He wanted to get kissing her on the lips; these things were a turn-on, but they could be a nuisance too, being in the way like that.

“Objectify me,” she moaned, pulling his head closer to her face.

While Romeo was busy doing that, his hands were pulling down her pants, groping for the promised land.

She grabbed it and guided it inside, at which he emitted a loud “yelp!” and pulled back out.

“Geezuz, woman, what do you have in there?  It feels like the inside of a keg of nails.”

“I don’t want to get pregnant,” she said.

“Well, babe, you’re gonna have to get some of that stuff out of there, because I don’t want to poke around the inside of a meat-grinder.”

“I need to have it,” she insisted; “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

Ignoring her protests, he reached up in there, pulling out first a female condom, and then a sponge and a heavy-duty intrauterine device, and finally an industrial-strength contraceptive ring.

“You sure have a way of preventing going in,” he complained.

“But usually men don’t have a problem,” she insisted; “it’s just that you’re, well, the biggest man that’s ever gone in there.  I swear, if it wasn’t already as big as a tunnel, I’d run away, and fast, at seeing how big you are.”

“A tunnel, and a well-traveled four-lane expressway,” he said, as he began thrusting with the force of a jack-hammer.

“I love how good it feels inside you, without all that hardware,” he said.


- - - - - - - - - -

She was already asleep when I got home at night, and as I’d already figured out, vaguely, how it’d turned out, I didn’t bother her and went to sleep myself.

The next morning, when driving her to town to pick up her now-repaired car, I gently inquired, “well, how’d it go yesterday?”

“It was great,” she said; “the way he explored my mind, admired my personality.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“And he gave me his telephone number so I can call him and we can talk again.”

I arched my eyebrows even higher.

Romeo never gives out his telephone number to women, and in fact got in my face one time when I unwittingly did so, never having been aware of the phenomenon of unwanted telephone calls, as telephones aren’t part of this life.

“What’d he give you, the telephone number?” I asked.

She recited off the numbers.

“He uses a cellular telephone,” I pointed out; “why don’t you call him right now, to tell him ‘good-bye’ and that you’ll be in touch?”

She took her cellular telephone and dialed the number.

As I’d already figured out, it was the recorded “Dial-A-Prayer’ number.

the end