Monday, August 01, 2005

Disarmed

"You say to me that you are brethren to style and grace. But one look at your wide eyes informs me that you know neither. How can you look at your reflection and disagree?”
But he melts, falling on the bed, his lazy, horizontal posture contradictory to his words, spoken with venom, backed by empty nothingness. She had removed her shirt, bra-less and bare but for a strategically placed arm. And although lusty, he endeavours to continue his thought to the end, even if he does not feel moved by it any longer.
“A woman of style and grace does no remove their garments thusly, and leave them strewn haphazardly, at best. They tease and delight in teasing, revealing little but conjuring greatness with simple gestures and flicks.”
She moves onto his lap, grabbing his belt and, with a heave, yanks it up, repeating this three times, a smile breaks his stern looks and relaxes his eyes, which clear and water. He bares his top teeth and licks his bottom lip. She leans in close to him and breathes on his face, over his ears and she sucks his chin.
“The woman type that you aspire to”, continues the man, “doesn’t allow the man in a liaison to receive physical pleasure without first requiring a payment up front, and without pretence. Such a payment sets the tone for the evening and makes all intentions clear. That woman type can pleasure her man as well as her coffer.”
She removes his pants, takeing care to ruffle his undergarments, and throws them behind her, knocking about a bottle of whiskey. She continues her relief of his clothing as if it were her duty, ignoring the spill and moving to his shirt, which is spotless as is the expectation from a man of his stature. She undoes the top button and he responds with a nervous release of air.
“Have I wondered into the wrong room?” he questions aloud. “Is this not a bordello, a brothel, a house of whores? Are you not a purveyor of commercial flesh? Have I been driven mad?”
She kisses his chest.
“No, Senator.”
He pushes her head away from him.
“Don’t call me by that title, not here.”
Sitting up straight on his lap, she begins to finger his chest hair.
“Why, I meant no disrespect by my words sir, but your money is no good in this house. Your presence, however, is highly appreciated.”
And he relaxes with these sentiments, as insincere they may evidently prove, and just focuses on not performing too quickly.

6 comments:

  1. Yeah, I had just watched Deadwood... so this is supposed to be the late eighteen hundreds. Just so you know.

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  2. Oh? I was talking about me, here.
    But thanks for enlightening me about the background.

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  3. Oh yeah.... I knew that.... I just didn't want to be so obvious... to say that you are hot and funny.... jus be more random... is all.

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  4. Is Deadwood any good? I don't think we got it here (the good people that don't have E4, I mean).

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  5. Deadwood is my favourite show.
    It's on Sky One, but they are into the second season now, which unfortunately isn't as good as the first but still kicks ass.
    Sweary cowboy shit.

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