the Bostonian Drunkard, nadin, light a fire under franksolich

[franksolich]

warning: rated “PG”

“Ouch!” I said; “you fractured me.

“And you know the most dangerous position’s the woman on top of the man.”

Her appearance was a surprise; I’d been sleeping when she came into the bedroom and hopped on top of me.

“Oh, you just want me to kiss and caress it,” she said.

She was dressed, and not for anything casual; as it turned out, she was going to a conference in the big city, but as she had time, she’d stopped here first.

“No, really,” I insisted.  “You hurt it.”

I sat up leaning on my bent elbows.  “See?” I asked, stretching it tautly.

“Oh now,” she replied; “you look as good as ever, but I’ll kiss it anyway, to make you feel better.”

I pulled her down so as to lay alongside me on the bed.

We kissed and stuff, but nothing more, as I didn’t want to mess up her clothes.

- - - - - - - - - -

I got up, lit a cigarette for her, and then one for me, as she sat on the bed and I leaned against the dresser, waiting for my morning glory to fade.

“Did you read them?” I asked.

“I don’t know why you’re so self-deprecating,” she said, blowing out smoke and looking at me.  “These are excellent, both of them.

“You need to consider getting both of them published, not just the ‘best’ one.”

“Well, I think A Nebraska Sandhills Cowboy Among the Reds, about my observations and experiences in the socialist paradises, would have a greater public appeal, but the second one’s more important to me, personally.”

As I was finally pointed downward again, I walked to the door leading to the kitchen, meaning to get some coffee.

“A friend came with me, and she’s out there,” she cautioned me, but as I’m deaf, I didn’t hear her.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Oh my,” she said as she turned around from the coffee-maker.

I was startled, not expecting anyone to be there, but well, it was too late now.

“The should-be writer,” she said, looking at me.

“And now this--the pen’s awesome, but so’s the sword.”

I wasn’t sure how to take that, but whatever.

“I read both of them,” she said, “A Nebraska Sandhills Cowboy Among the Reds, and the other one.

“The first one’s funny, and the second one’s bittersweet, poignant, touching, and they’re both very good. 

"And now, I’ve met the writer himself in the flesh.”

I blushed; not because I was in the buff, but because I’m awkward when complimented.

“Actually,” I said, “those are only first drafts, each tens of thousands of words--when I get done with that, I plan to go through and cherry-pick, eliminating about 90% of the present text in both.”

The first woman came out of the bedroom into the kitchen, and putting her chin on my shoulder, squeezed and rubbed what was behind on me.

“I’m sure they’ll be much improved after I cut out all the dross,” I said, headed to the bathroom so as to empty the bladder, hoping that by the time I came out, they’d be in the dining room or the living room, and I could go get dressed.

- - - - - - - - - -

When I came out, they were sitting at the kitchen table and obviously didn’t want me to leave, so all I could do was lean against the kitchen counter, smoking and drinking coffee, hoping whatever else was no distraction.

“Why, after all these years, did you finally decide to write a book?” the second woman asked me.  “I’ve heard that for the longest time, people’ve urged you to, but you always resisted.”

The Bostonian Drunkard and nadin on Skins’s island were my inspiration, I said.  “I figured if they could vanity-publish a book or two, well, maybe I could too.  I’m sure I’m at least in their league, when it comes to writing.

“And if I think they’re good enough, I’ll put in even more bucks to have the books hardbound and slip-cased.

"I plan to give them away, as nobody'll buy them.

“It’s a hobby for me, writing, like the Bostonian Drunkard’s drinking or nadin’s journo-ing, and one can’t reasonably expect to make money off of hobbying; in fact, one expects to spend a lot of one’s own money on it.

“Dude…..” the property caretaker said, coming in the back door and seeing me.

Getting some coffee, he said, “You know, I’m still checking into alarms for the deaf, to find something that’ll suit you, so you’ll know when somebody’s around here, and not get caught like this when you wake up.”