Murder Mystery Weekend – Chapter 12

Ben made his grand entrance down the stairs. I don’t know where he got his costume, but it wasn’t from the Lido. Ben was dressed like … Assassin’s Creed. White hood, extra long black leather vest, with a black leather crossbelt. He had a long white shirt, with blue trim, wrist guards, and high leather boots. OK – I admit it – he looked pretty cool. But Assassin’s Creed? Really?

Eliza and Sheila came down together. I had already seen Ee’s costume, but I was certainly not tired of looking at it. Sheila, though, had gotten quite creative. She had a black kerchief on her head, and long dark hair hanging down to her waist. It was a wig! She also had a white lace shirt that left her shoulders bare, a lace-up corset, and a burgundy-coloured skirt down to her ankles. She had a petticoat, too, but it was transparent. When she lifted her skirts, you could see quite a bit of leg over the top of her high-heeled, lace-up boots. Add to that a black velvet choker … and Sheila looked pretty good.

– “Fantastic.” I told her. “You look sexy and dangerous at the same time.”

– “Good.” she said. “That’s kind of what I was hoping for.”

– “Love the wig, too.” I added.

– “You would.”

Leo finally came down, in his Jack Sparrow costume. He got a round of applause. I had to laugh – he had added the eye makeup.

Then Teresa came out, and she got applause, too. My ex was very, very smart: she didn’t try to upstage any of the players. Her costume was deliberately less sexy than any of the others. She had a tricorne hat, and a really cute dress that looked like a gentleman’s long coat, except that it ended in a skirt. It was burgundy color, with wide black lapels and large brass buttons down the front. Her white shirt was buttoned at the neck, so that she showed no cleavage whatsoever. The shirt had wide, elaborate lace cuffs. The skirt reached to her knees, but high boots and a thick, frilly petticoat meant that she was showing only a couple of inches of skin. For a final touch, she had a replica pistol tucked into a broad black belt.

Compared to Claire and the others, Teresa’s costume made her look like a pirate Mother Superior. She was attractive and authoritative, without the blatant, outrageous sexuality of the others. It suited her, somehow, as if she truly belonged in another century. Understated, yet effective.

– “Very, very impressive.” I told her.

– “Thank you.” she said, with her classic half-smile. “Are we all here?” she asked.

– “Everyone except Barbara.” said Eliza.

– “Ah. Well, then – everybody should make sure that they have a fresh drink.” said Teresa.

Barbara was last, of course. No one was surprised. She got to make her grand entrance. And she still managed to exceed our expectations.

Barbara wore a long coat – yes, burgundy-colored. What was it with that colour for pirate costumes? The wide lapels were black, and the lining of her coat featured a swirling pattern of black and gold. She had a white shirt with cuffs like Teresa’s, but the resemblance ended there; Barbara’s neckline was scandalously low, showing an insane amount of cleavage. I wanted to get a ruler or a tape measure and stick my hands in there.

She had a tight little corset lifting and supporting her large boobs, and a gold chain around her neck. There may have been a pendant attached, but I couldn’t see one, as it disappeared into the enormous crevasse between her tits. Her belt had a large, ornate brass buckle. Her legs were snugly sheathed in black tights, tucked into knee-high black high-heeled boots. On top, she had a wide-brimmed black felt hat with a fake ostrich feather.

And would you believe it: she was wearing an eye patch.

Barbara must have spent hours combing all of the costume shops to find the most outrageously sexy components they had. She also wore makeup to match – lots and lots around her eyes. She came down the stairs, slowly, and struck a pose.

I would have bet a sizeable fortune that every guy there was hard as a rock. It wasn’t just Barbara – though she could have cause a riot in a monastery – it was the combined effect of six very attractive women dressed to match a variety of male fantasies.

 

https://lapetitemort17.wordpress.com/?p=272

 

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Kimiko – Chapter 5 – Text to Fix

After my wonderful first date with the lovely Kimiko, I really wanted to see her again. I was going to try to set something up for a lunch this week. I also sent her a link to this great documentary about the Asian Bank, “Abacus: Small Enough Too Jail.” (If you’ve been following this blog you’ll know that I saw that film in the theater with Ambria.)

I’m texting her.

“Thank you! I’m still at work! How are you?”

“I’m at the salon working too! I’ve been thinking about our fun date last night!”

“Another busy day, right?

“Not too busy here tonight. Rain is keeping people away.”

“Yea…Wholefoods too.”

 

Tuesday

“Would you still be up for lunch on Thursday?”

“Hey, I’m done work now. Thursday I have a doctor’s appointment at 2pm. What time is good for you?”

“Shall we do 11 or 11:30? What works best for you?”

“My doctor’s office is in Moorestown. Quite far away from the city. You have to work Thursday?

“3 to 8pm. Looking at a property at 10am.”

“Oh.”

“Weekend better for you?”

“I guess so.”

“Aww! Saturday after 5 or Sunday after 4pm? Movies? Or I could do a Zip Car and come to Jersey. Or I could hop on Patco and we could dine in Haddonfield or Collingswood.”

“Great! We can talk later.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________

The week passes and so does the weekend. I don’t hear from her at all. I really like Kimiko and want to hang out with her again. (And kiss her again!) My schedule just really sucks right now.  I decide to make another attempt.

Monday

“Hi Kimiko. Have you lost interest?”

“You didn’t text me last week?!”

“I wanted to after I came up with a few solutions on how we could meet and I didn’t hear from you for the weekend. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.”

“You know what, it’s a misunderstanding, because I didn’t hear from you again, I thought you went on another date.”

“No. Like I said I have been working a lot lately. I like you and I thought our first date went really well.”

“Thank you. Yea, I had a good time too.”

“So you’re still interested in getting to know me and you’d like to go out again.”

“Sure!!”

“Yay!”

“Things have been busy getting this business off the ground. But I want to stay in touch with you and find ways to spend time with you whenever we can!”

“Yes! Sounds good! Because this weekend I’m going to New York for a baby shower.”

“Sounds good. I’m so glad we chatted tonight. I feel so much better and I hope you do too, Kimiko.”

“Indeed. You know sometimes online dating just ends for no reason.”

“I guess, but I think we have a good connection.”

“Yes!”

“Awesome. “Well have fun at the shower up in New York. We’ll chat again soon!”

“Absolutely!”

“Thank you, Kimiko.”

So I’ll leave it there for now. Hopefully once I get through the next week, I should have some free time to see her. I don’t want her to get away, but I fear that if I wait too long she will.

 

 

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Racquel Writes! – 26 Questions

via 26 Questions

 

http://www.racquelwrites.com

 

 

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Shara – Moonless River – Part 2

Fair warning, it’s slightly NSFW

Upon arriving to her shared bungalow I followed her inside, watched her get a couple of beers from the fridge, and then continued out to the back porch to sit and drink and talk some more. Her skinny dachshund joined us and I did my best to accommodate his restless curiosity. It was there that we finally managed to have a real conversation, though my buzzing senses told me that it was largely perfunctory. I was in no state to be as thoughtful or funny as I can be on my best days, and so we mostly talked about her neighbors, my work, her school, and how we both ended up in Philly. She had moved from Texas less than six weeks earlier and was studying to take the bar exam. She said that Philly was everything that Houston wasn’t, though the fact that she’d moved to Philly sight unseen made me wonder how she’d determined that in advance.

As the summer sky cycled through a darkening palette of blue, a silent shift occurred and our conversation ceased. I spent a long moment peering out over the yard before turning to her and drawing close. We kissed. We kissed again, and again, and she eventually ended up seated on my lap, her arms around my shoulders and my arms around her waist, the first stage of weaving in which bodies can engage.

I felt good. I wanted this to be happening. I wanted to meet a young, clever girl in a bar, have a few drinks, talk, and then go to bed with her. It didn’t have to be complicated and it didn’t have to last longer than a night. It was just what I needed. After a few minutes she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house. Had she turned toward me at any point while we descended the stairs leading to her basement bedroom she would’ve glimpsed the stupid grin that I was wearing in her wake.

I’d like to claim that things improved from there, but two factors worked in concert to make the next several hours more of a psychosexual endurance test than anything else. One: I was still really, really drunk. Two: I had grown surprisingly intimidated by the aggressive, exotic woman sitting astride me, which affected my ability to keep it up. Initially everything went just fine, but as time went on I found myself managing an ever increasing pendulum sweep of hot sex and performance anxiety. The slats of her Ikea daybed squeaked noisily and shifted with our movements, and fearful of her housemate’s moral judgement she pulled us both down to the clothes covered concrete floor for more.

Going down on her temporarily renewed me, but her almost belligerent approach combined with the men’s magazine spread of her lithe, strong body continued to daunt and distract me from the unspoken but obvious goal of getting both of us off. Sexual ineptitude was a wholly novel experience for me, and I am being honest when I say that she was, and remains, the only woman who has ever provoked it.

Back in bed, partly sated and completely exhausted, we continued to caress each other’s bodies. I rolled on top of her and nibbled her neck while running my hands through the moonless river of her hair. I liked the way her compact frame was boxed by my knees and elbows, my back and hips forming a tabletop above her. My mouth moved to her breasts, first left, then right, and there I discovered a stainless steel barbell piercing a small, dark nipple. Now, it is true that I’d never been with anyone with a nipple piercing before, but that doesn’t mean that what happened next was completely my fault. It might have been, but that shit was steel and my teeth are not.

Soon after my discovery, the ministrations of my mouth managed to break one of the balls off the shaft of the piercing, which then slid free of its years-old home. She recognized what had happened immediately and within an instant the lights were on and she was angrily assessing the damage done. Drunk, tired, bleary-eyed, and naked, we both peered at her nipple like inept scientists. I made the mistake of trying to gently squeeze it to determine where the piercing had been, after which she yelped, slapped my hand away, and disappeared upstairs with the broken barbell in one hand and her throbbing breast in the other.

She was up there for a long time. I fell asleep for a while. She later told me that she’d attempted to shove the shaft back in and nearly passed out from the pain. When that didn’t work, she resigned herself to returning to bed and dealing with it in the morning. I laid down beside her, flummoxed by and apologetic for what had happened. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly four in the morning. As much as I needed to sleep, I recalled with a sigh that I’d made plans to go to the farmer’s market with a friend early that morning, which somewhat incredibly had now arrived.

I allowed myself to rest fitfully for an hour before blindly collecting my things and padding upstairs. I don’t remember if I gave my partner in the previous night’s fiasco a kiss goodbye, but I’d like to think that I did. I also asked her to call me later about getting her nipple fixed up.

Like a gentleman.

As I walked to the street and I realized in a thrilling moment of disorientation that I had no idea where in the city I was. I chose a direction and began to walk, and after noticing the increasing house numbers, turned around and walked back the other way. By the time I determined my location I was still over a few miles from my apartment. It was a beautiful morning, bright and clear, and as I followed the river south I laughed aloud at the last twelve hours. My city was still slumbering, and I was welcoming the day.

 

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5 Basic Safety Tips For Women

https://va.topbuzz.com/s/kkfFR

 

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Cherie – Chapter 45 – The Return of my Love

“I owe you for some birthday sex.”

Cherie has returned from Japan! She and her family have been visiting her brother for the last few weeks. He’s married and works in Navy Intelligence. This is the last time they’ll all be able to visit him over there so they took the opportunity. He’ll be stationed back in the States next year.

We’ve been in touch the entire time she was over there on the other side of the world. We used an international texting app called WhatsApp. It works great for chatting with your loved ones or anybody when you’re traveling abroad.

I was just happy that she and her family all arrived home safely and had a good time.

A couple weeks went by and there were some milestones while she was gone. We reached our 10 month anniversary, on the 8th and I celebrated my birthday on the 9th. She was in a completely different time zone so she said happy anniversary to me on the 8th over there and then the next day I said the same to her here in the US. (Because Japan is ahead of us by 14 hours?)

She said she owed me some birthday sex. I don’t think anyone has ever given me that before. They may have and I’ve forgotten over the years. But based on the sex we’re currently having, birthday sex may very well kill me.

She tells me she wants to come down this Saturday around 6:30. I’ve been working a lot lately so that’s the best I can do. She always has to get someone to watch her son which is usually her sister or mom. I finish up at the salon and head home at 5:30 so I’ve got a little time to prep. And by prep, I mean clean. Fresh sheets, Fabreze, give the bathroom the once over and replenish the candy dish on her side of the bed with fresh treats. Baby loves her milk chocolate.

She says she’s looking for parking so I head out of the house. She finds a spot down on 19th and Fitzwater. Perfect. That’s only a few blocks away and she won’t have to pay for parking. I start walking south on 19th and she walks north. (Cherie hates when I use words like North and South because it just further confuses her.)

I can see my love walking towards me in the distance. I’m so happy to see her! It’s probably been over a month and we’re both way overdue for some intimacy.

Finally we meet. We embrace and kiss. I’m so happy to see her! She looks beautiful of course. Her hair a tangle of raven and copper braids. Tight black slacks and heels. A sheer black top. She’s wearing a little jacket over it for modesty but she certainly is not wearing a bra.

We stroll together back to the batcave. The weather hasn’t been as hot lately, so all of the windows are open and the air conditioner is off.

Cherie once said to me that if she’s carrying her backpack then she’s staying the night. If not she has to go home in a few hours. Thankfully tonight she has her bag.

“How long can I keep you?”

“I should probably roll out of here around 7:30 or 8:00 tomorrow morning. My dad has to cook at a barbecue he and my mom are going to in Delaware.

“Oh that sounds fun!”

“Nah, I think my mom roped him into cooking because he’s great behind the grill.”

We chat, and I bring her up to date on my stuff. Work, the salon, the fitness center, my other job, etc. She in turn tells me all the fun they had in Japan. I had lots of questions obviously. I think I was just amazed that my girlfriend who was sitting on the edge of my bed right now was on the other side of the world in a foreign country just last week. I’ve done some traveling but mostly here in the US. I haven’t done any global trips in my life.

It was all very fascinating to me. I’ve always been interested in Asian history and culture. They just seem a bit more evolved than the rest of us. They certainly embrace honor and manners and I certainly appreciate that. (Plus I’ve always had a thing for hot Asian chicks!)

Then she starts pulling things out of her bag. First thing is a little blue box. She hands it to me.

“Got you a gift.”

“Aww! You didn’t have to that!”

It’s a little shot glass with some Asian symbols on it and the word Japan.

“I love it! I’ll do a shot tomorrow and send you a pic.”

“Well I know you like to drink so…”

Perfect gift. Thank you, dear! (kisses)

Then she pulls at this very interesting looking cylindrical bottle, with Japanese writing all over it. She tells me that it’s Japanese plum wine, and you have to wait 3 months to drink it, and can only wait 3 years to drink it. I take a closer look and it appears to have 3 or four little plums inside it. I don’t know what the proof on this wine is, but I’m certainly willing to find out. I guess the drinkability window is based on the age and pickling of the plums. (I’ll have to do some research on authentic plum wine.)

“We should drink it together.”

“That would be a new thing for us Cher. We’ve never shared one drink, ever.”

“Well we should do it.”

“Hey, how about for our one year anniversary?”

“Perfect. But you know with our crazy schedules it may not land on the exact day, but somewhere around it.”

“I’ll just be proud to know that we made it a year and we’re a happy couple.”

Maybe I could take her to a nice BYO restaurant for our anniversary and bring our little bottle of plum wine!

Cherie have never drank together. That time she and I went to Mix Pizza she told me if I wanted a drink I should get one. You should all know by this time that I love to drink. But when I’m with Cherie I just don’t feel like it. We don’t engage in any activities that involve alcohol. She’s not much of a drinker at all. We like movies, food, sex and whatever else but you won’t see us ever hanging at a bar. I don’t need to get her loosened up with booze. She’s always horny and ready to go. Besides, at my age, I don’t want anything messing with my signal during sex. Alcohol could affect my altimeter if you get my meaning.

Then she pulls out a keychain with Arielle from The Little Mermaid.

“We went to Tokyo Disneyworld. I know you told me that Lorelei liked the little mermaid when she was little so I wanted to get her a little something.”

“You are the best, Cher. I think she’ll love it. Maybe she’ll hook it to her bag she carries around with her.” (hugs and kisses)

I’m still chatting and walking about the room. Cherie smiles and lays back on the bed.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’ve really missed you a lot and I’m really horny.”

“Alrighty then.”

It was an amazing evening and lasted into Sunday morning. Glorious!

I’m so glad that I have Cherie in my life. She is such a lovely woman, and an absolutely chill girl that never wants anything. I even had a few “wife” moments again when we were giggling in bed tonight.

 

 

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Tales of Rock – Kurt Cobain Kills Himself Twice

“Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.”

Few musicians’ experiences with drug abuse have been as complex and intense as Kurt Cobain’s. For proof of this, see the index of Charles Cross’ 2001 Cobain biography Heavier Than Heaven. If you check, “Cobain, Kurt Donald; drug use of…” you’ll basically be instructed to read the entire book. He started off heavily averse to heroin; during his formative years, a friend suggested they try it and he stopped hanging out with him in response. He eventually tried the drug; when asked how it was by Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic, he shrugged, “Oh, it was all right.” But his habit escalated.

By the time Nirvana appeared on Saturday Night Live in 1992, Cobain was so deep in heroin addiction that he was vomiting and barely able to stand right until the time came to perform. He somehow pulled it together long enough to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Territorial Pissings” on live television. In March 1994, Cobain attempted suicide for the first time by washing down a large dose of flunitrazepam with champagne while in Rome. He nearly died and ended up in a coma for a day (Novoselic claimed that, mentally, he was never the same after this).

Within weeks he was back in Seattle, crashing on his daughter’s junkie nanny’s girlfriend’s couch and popping out occasionally to purchase speedballs and burritos. Cross quotes the girlfriend as saying, “He’d sit in my living room with the hat with the ear coverings, and read magazines. People came and went; there was always a lot of activity going on. Nobody knew he was there or recognized him.” By the end of the month, Cobain was given an intervention and packed off to rehab in California. But he soon escaped the facility by scaling a six-foot wall and, improbably, found a seat on a flight back to Seattle next to Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan.

Despite beef between Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses, the two bonded, finding a great deal of common ground as famous musicians from the Pacific Northwest with heroin problems. Once back at his house, Cobain reattempted suicide and this time he meant business. He injected a lethal dose of heroin and then blasted himself in the head with a shotgun, effectively killing himself twice. Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.

Another sad rock and roll tragedy. Showbiz is the only industry that eats it’s young.

Check this out:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

A footnote from phicklephilly: “I never understood suicide. You get one chance to be here, why leave early if you don’t have to? Suicide’s for quitters. I’ve suffered with anxiety and depression my whole life. I’ve beaten the shit out of them both (without drugs) and now we’re all on the same side. Suicide is always a long term solution to usually a temporary problem. I just don’t get it, Kurt. I was in a band when I was younger. It was an amazing experience. Kurt, you play music for a living. You’re in a famous genre inspiring band. You’re surrounded by a gaggle of moist women. Your bank account is full and your nuts are empty. WTF?”

 

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