Archive for August, 2011


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“Alors, I am a fallen angel,” thought Auntie Carol. And she thought of how her class, Las Cabronas, would be shocked at her behavior of late. Then she thought, “What They Don’t Know Won’t Hurt Them,” with a smirk. She and Herman, her beloved husband, had embarked on the shoddy practice of having sex in public places. Herman liked the excitement of being discovered in “flagrante delecto”.

At Le Bec Fin, a pricey French restaurant, this alarming behavior began. She sucked him off while he ate his meal while being under the elegant linen tablecloth on her knees. Need I say the waiter was well pleased with his tip, and the sweetbreads proved to be excellent, and the crème sauce was divine. A little double entendre for you, darlings. Otherwise Life continued as before, she with her students, and Herman with his clients at the Sexually Dysfunctional Clinic.

It was a rainy Friday and she was going over the declension of the verb, “To Be” trying to vanquish the use of the dreadful, dastardly colloquialism, “Aint”.

“Now, girls, does one say ‘I aint coming or ‘I am not coming’?”

There was a silence in the classroom and a rolling of eyes. And Chiquita piped up. “Miz Carol I think it’s a foregone conclusion. I would use the latter.”

“Where in heavens name, did you learn to speak that way, dear?”.

“What you think, Miz Carol, that only white people can talk shit? I watch old black and white movies like the Philadelphia Story with Katherine Hepburn and the Perry Mason reruns.”

“Well done, dear. Keep it up. You girls should all take a page from Chiquita’s book,” said Auntie Carol.

“Chiquita aint write no book, Miz Carol. She too ‘ignant’ for that,” intoned LaLa with a laugh.

“I’m not ignorant. Not no more, bitch,” said Chiquita.

Auntie Carol flung herself dramatically across the room like the dying swan in the ballet, Swan Lake. “Girls, girls, girls, you murder the English language. It’s didn’t write not aint write. And Chiquita you used the dreaded dastardly double negative. It’s not no more: it’s any more. Must I tear my heart out to get you to speak, the King’s English. Must I impale myself on a Crusader’s Sword, or give up and join the nunnery?”

“Well, that would be a neat trick, Miz Carol. Psych,” said LaLa.

“Dear, cruelty and sarcasm do not delineate a lady. A lady is mild and kind in all her dealings with people like the sainted Mother Therese. God Bless her soul.”

At the propitious moment there was a knock on the door and Herman Sherman, dressed as Salvador Dali presented himself at the door proclaiming he was the new vice-principal.
“I have urgent need for your services, Mrs. Herman. Come with me immediately. This is a serious matter.”

“Girls, I shall be back in twenty minutes. LaLa, you take charge of the class. Repeat over and over again the declensions for the verb, To Be, as written on the board. If any nonsense occurs, I shall know it immediately. I can read a guilty face and recognize a sinner at fifty paces,” said Auntie Carol.

“You gonna’ go wit’ this freak. He wearin’ a chartreuse suit and lookin’ like a serial killer. How you know he aint a serial killer?” queried LaLa.

“With, dear, not wit’ and isn’t a serial killer. No, dearest, this is the new vice-principal, Mr. GoForth.”

“Like Go Forth and Multiply,” quipped LaLa.

“Well, you already know all about that, dear. You’re here in this classroom to become a lady and learn the glory of the English language. Civilization is based on proper deportment and mastery of the English language. You can’t expect to speak like a strumpet and be respected. Adieu, mon amis.” Auntie Carol prided herself on her sang froit.

While she was gone LaLa riveted the class with her witty impersonations of Auntie Carol and the class roared with laughter. And there were not stabbings, whatsoever.

“Well,” said Herman, upon leaving, “You handled that well. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I don’t, at least not yet,” she said with a snort laugh. “Shall we duck in the janitor’s closet: I have the keys.”

“Oh, hell yes,” said Herman, who grabbed and squeezed her ass. “I’m going to make you squeal like a Georgia hog, Carol.”

“Oh, God, yes,” said Auntie Carol as they stepped into the closet, removing her skirt and panties.

“Keep on the black bra, hon, your tits look like two giant scoops of pineapple sherbet bouncing on a pitted road. I’m gonna’ pinch your nipples pink and ram you with my rod.”

“Upsy daisy,” said Auntie Carol, ever the wit.

Imagine the janitor’s surprise and chagrin when he found Herman using the plunger on her pussy. And the moist sucking sound excited his manly condition.

Herman, quick to see the possibilities in life, removed his shirt and presented the janitor with a heavenly vision of his pert nectarine shaped breasts and the janitor may or may not have said, “Cowiebonga”.

“Just relax, hon, while I milk you like a fuckin’ cow,” said Herman grabbing the janitor’s cock. Auntie Carol resumed masturbating herself with the plunger and all three reached the same conclusion. It was the best of all possible worlds.

Upon arriving back to class she found LaLa in the middle of one of her silly impersonations.

“Dear, it’s not nice to make fun of those less fortunate than you,” said Auntie Carol.

“But you’re not less fortunate, Miz Carol,” said LaLa,

“Details, details, my girl,” said Auntie Carol.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” responded Chiquita.
“I know, dear. Reader’s Digest Memorable Quotes, right?”.
“Miz Carol, you smell like cleaning fluid.” Observed LaLa.

“Well, dear, you know what they say. Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” responded Auntie Carol.
CAROL ANN writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir&Whimsy) @ Amazon & BN.com

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Lady Lynda sat there glumly on her paisley upholstered sofa contemplating what precisely came in effect because of her etiquette teachings to the students. How edifying was her teachings? Yes it was true there was a soiree but what happened next? Yes what did happen? Did her as they say on that new fangled net , her BFF Auntie Carol. Did she know?
There was this Lourdes, aka Lala and her gentleman friend Francisco. She of the Charm School for Wayward Girls. He of The Pequot Reform School for Dastardly Bastards. That ruffian was no gentleman when she first met him. Lady Lynda reminisced. She thought of the Latino Francisco, olive skin, and ebony eyes. His face was a stark contrast in disconcerting dissonance. His lady friend Lala was olive, statuesque, voluptious. Lourdes was an apt name for her for Lord knows how she’d turn out. Auntie Carol’s colleague remembered her experiences with the wayward girls and the dastardly bastards, las Combronas. She recalled most specifically the remarkably handsome Francisco and Lala. Her successes in inculcating in proper deportment. She made them former neer do wells. That was her shining hour and her crowning glory. Now her spirits brightened and knew what to tell her potential agent.
The woman was still nervous as she dialed the phone. This time she was feeling somewhat more confident.

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Oh, Lord me, have I had a wonderful fete for my two friends, Lady Lynda and Auntie Carol, my two “married lady friends”. It was High Tea with silver urn and Earl Grey tea (what else would I use) and the daintiest painted tea cups depicting erotic scenes from Greek mythology. I am The Black Orchid, really, who else could this be.

The food was a delight, I tell ye, with the sweet things all baked by me. Miniature fruit pies, bursting with lush tastes, a large yellow orange Cointreau cake, scones, and all manner of pastries, petit fours, vanilla and chocolate with frosting roses of red and yellow. All of them resting on chartreuse pastry envelopes. Later on there was champagne not too dry with a hint of fruity sweetness. I abhor dry champagne: It tastes like medicinal mouthwash! We had our party on my glassed in porch where we could see the flowering plants, of pink, yellow, purple, red and indigo (morning glories). The trees swayed in the playful wind, a symphony of greeness. And the little yellow birds drank from my Cupid bird bath. They tend to fluff their feaathers out like little cotton puffs for no good reason at all.

The girls, Las Cabronas, were all at their part-time jobs as nurse assistant trainees, jobs I had acquired for them. Need I remind you that I have taken all these
unfortunate girls under my protection and largesse to live with me in my mansion for as long as they need shelter until they are ready to go out on their own.

The Theme of the party was “Fellini Women” and we each came as a character out of a Fellini film. I chose to be Graciana out of Amacord, the lady in red and I wore a tight black bustier to push up my meager little, nectarine breasts up as I am a panther not a sow. I wore no underwear as I believe Graciana would want to let her pudenda breathe. Lady Lynda came as a character out of La Strata, the meek little Strumphet with the Trumphet. One of literature’s abused women yet so yearning and poignant. Auntie Carol, who had put on quite a bit of weight, came as the Tobbacanist, a busting, bouyant, sexual character with a lust for young pubescent boys. I wonder if she ever saw Amacord: my guess is she had not. I was happy, so happy to have my good, true friends near me and also as Graciana, I wore all red and red makes me deliriously happy for no good reason at all. I am a creature of moods, Lord knows. I spoke all in Italian and my two erudite friends knew the language as well. Bellisima, I must say. I kissed them both on the lips upon arrival as is the ancient European custom and slipped in some tongue just to confuse them for they know I love women as well as men though men are my stated preference. One must always have a little wickedness in life.

They, being married, were no longer
the untainted maidens of yore and I was curious as to what they had learned about life and men. I noted Auntie carol’s ass looked like two pups fighting in a gunny sack. Unseemly! When I mentioned this, she replied that she was just “pleasingly plump”. I told her it was more like a field gone to fallow.

Then Lady Lynda piped up and said, “Seymour cannot abide fat women, so I keep my weight down. I do not want to look like a Juniper croissant nor a manatee. You should do something, my dearest. A good woman is like the Biblical Ruth and must cleave to her man and fulfill his every desire… unless, of course, it defies physical law. A little bon mot for you, my darling.”

I am all about breaking physical law when it comes to love making. I do all The Minotaur asks of me, my one true love. I am fortunate to be limber as a contortionist. Like water I have learned to flow. I can play the role of either man or woman. But these revelations did not trip lightly from my lips as I did not want to offend “My Lovelies”. Tell the truth, but don’t always be telling it as Lady Lynda is wont to say.

“Ye Sly Bitches,” I said when we were all outrageously drunk, “How are Ye liking the cock, as it were?”

Auntie Carol held out her hands about seven inches, and threw back her head laughing. Lady Lynda did the same only a greater length and laughed her ass off.
I said,”What has the liquor made you both mute?” I said. “Do Ye Serendipitous Sluts take it from the back yet?”

“Oh, Heavens, no”, said Auntie Carol, “The priest says the missionary position is the only Godly way and to never put foreign objects in ones mouth that are not nutricious.”

“Now, I know Ye are lying, Bitch,” I said. “You married a hermaphrodite, both man and woman. Do Ye mean to tell me uou don’t go down on the pussy, or do you ignore it like an unwanted and filthy appendage? And how can a person tell you how to ride a bicicle if he has never ridden one himself. Do not go to a Catholic priest for sexual advice, My Dear.”

Lady Lynda interjected, “I let Seymour go up my backside on his birthday, I deign to say. Though between us I don’t think Audrey Hepburn, my idol, would ever do that. I feel so ashamed. I am an Ungodly whore! Oh, my!”

“Well, I guess I could try it. Does it hurt?” asked Auntie Carol.

“Ye Silly Cunt, It depends on which hole he puts it in,” I said. “I shall give Ye the Wisdom of the Ages, Ye Little Wenches. Your man awaits the day you become a wild woman, A Goddess of Lust. Eat radishes and raw vegetables. allow no red meat to pass your lips. Run ten miles a day and become a beast. There are no fat wild animals. Wear lingerie with the tender parts cut out with colors of the field, red, black, pink, purple. Ye must act to keep your man (or woman
as the case may be) satisfied. Come on as a kitten and finish as a tigress. Auntie Carol, Ye must shed that fat. He could make love between the folds of your fat and never be the wiser. Be a tart, Be Lady Chatterly, be Ruth and cleave unto your man. Through the stomach is not they way to a man’s heart, My Darlings. And secondly, a woman should be erudite, read philosophy and literature. No man likes a tabula rosa. Ye are not inert, a vegatable. Some people think putrescent pearls, dazzling diamonds and designer clothes convey identity.
This is merely ornamentation or as it were, icing on the cake. Oh, heed me, Lovely Ladies for I have your best interests in my heart.”

“And we love you too, Black Orchid.” said Auntie Carol who had brought two books with her, Plato’s Republic and the works of The Marquis de Sade.

“Oh, that rank bastard. Would that I had made love to him. I would have
broke his back,” and I laughed my ass off, such as it was.

Lady Lynda and Auntie Carol laughed too as ladies are wont to do, not too loud nor too raucuous. Like the tinkling of littlle silver bells. And all was splendid.

CAROL ANN writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir&Whimsy) @Amazon &BN.com

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Lady Lynda dexterously organized her thoughts in her “citadel,” apartment before she demurely dialed her princess phone. Nothing but a princess phone for a princess like her. Seymour Toze her prince. Her agent would be her guide throughout the US in her quest to teach her fellow citizens perfect manners. A most noble quest she proudly told herself
Despite the bravado the dear woman felt worried she’d slip up. There was no way to know beforehand how reasonable these interviewees would be. She forlornly remembered the many job interviews she had throughout her adult life. It was only when she , thanks to colleague Auntie Carol she discovered her true calling. And that was to spread the teachings of proper manners throughout the U.S.A

As talented an expert she was she still needed somebody to guide her on the way. Yes she could teach crude, the rude and the lew\d but she still needed someone to help her with the business part. Lady Lynda begrudgingly reminded herself that she was not a skilled in every single way in her new noble endeavor.

With all that in mind she gazed at the first name on the list under agents in the directory. She saw the name was Barbara Abbott. One thing Lynda told herself was not to inquire if she was partners with somebody named Costello. The most considerate woman swiftly concluded the poor dear got that kind of ribbing most of her life. Far be it from her to be like those ruffians.

Lady Lynda heard eight rings. She was feeling increasingly beleagered as she tried to decide to wait for more rings. Finally on the tenth one, a middle aged female voice was heard. It was a most delicate one. One that sounded as if a puff of gentle breeze would be enough to silence it.

“Yes this is Barbara Abbott. Professional agent extraodinaire at your service. “What is the nature of your call?”

Lady Lynda involuntarily thought of Jim Carey’s movie “When Nature Calls” She tried to best to get that vulgar thought out of her head. “I called you under agents in the phone. I’d like to know if you can be my agent.”

“Pray tell, agent for what”

“For my upcoming nationwide importance of good manners tour”

There was a moment of silence. Lady Lynda was worried the woman was displeased with her idea. Then Abbot’s voice came back on. Pardon me I was mulling around how I could help you.

“Well for one thing you could get me bookings.”

“I suppose I could. But how could we categorize what you’re doing. Its not like you’re an entertainer type most folks know.”

“That’s where you can come in. You can create public relations for me explaining my etiquette expertise, how important it is and how I am an expert teaching it. You can include my experiences at the Charm School for Wayward Girls and the Pequot Reform school for Dastardly Bastards and how well I did in both of them.”

“So how successful were you? I just know what you tell me. Give me examples.”

Lady Lynda was stumped. Just then she heard a click.

The woman knew Barbara Abbott was like a pencil, one with a very good point. She just wished she wasn’t so sharp about it. She was right she ought to been able to tell why she was such a great etiquette teacher. Lady Lynda felt rejected but far from dejected. She would now think about what was it that made her such an expert on manners.

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With Lady Lynda on her Speaking Tour about the Importance of Proper Manners & Socual Decorum, Auntie Carol continued her mission, working with Las Cabronas, the socially end economically disavantaged girls gang they had adopted as a special project. Auntie Carol was also talking about social niceties, the necessity to always carry a scented sashet in one’s purse, a kerchief, and a tube of pink lipstick, and to cross one’s legs at the hip level when wearing a short skirt, and to never sneeze into the linen tablecloth at a five star restaurant even if one’s allergies were practically life endangering.

After covering these cogent facts she launched into Edna St. Vincent Millay’s timely poem quote, “I burn my candle at both ends/ and shall not last the night.” And its deeper meaning which was totally lost on the gangleader, Lala. “Miz Carol that means when you burn the birthday candles down too low on the birthday cake ’cause nobody thought to blow them out in time and leaving a fucked up mess and having to scrape all the icing off the cake to eat it!”

“Language, Dear, a proper lady never swears!” intoned Auntie Carol. How she missed the gentle camaraderie of her co-teacher, Lady Lynda, in the classroom, and thought to herself, “Oh, well, the sainted dove has flown the coop.” She further embelished on the fact that the quote had a deeper more profound meaning, that it was necessary to rest and conserve oneself to lengthen one’s time on the earth, and that the candle symbolized the life force itself. And that if one lived fast and wild, one tended to die young. Lift not your skirts in vain, fair damsels, and the like.

“Miz Carol”, countered Lala, “How you gone say that. You got to git it on while you still can before you get old and disgusting. You know, all old and fat and wrinkled like some old jelly fish. Cuz’ then who gone ring your bell?”

“Conservation of one’s spritual and physical resources is the wisest path, Dear.” said Auntie Carol.

“Who, you are, Miz Carol, Smokey the Bear?”laughed Lala, and the class exploded in riotous laughter.
“Faith, hope and charity, can only extend one’s time on earth, young lady, and helps one to avoid life’s major quagmires ” replied Auntie Carol.

“Oh, my God, Miz Carol, my pussy done exploded!” screamed Chiquita, Lala’s girl, not in “that” way, silly.

“No, dear the correct term is your pudenda imploded. Launguage is the gateway to reality and the only tool we have to negociate this ‘vale of tears’ that is life,” said Auntie Carol.

“Oh, fuck, my water just broke. Get the nurse, Miz Carol,” said Chiquita. “It’s coming.”

“I never knew you had it in you, dear,” said Auntie Carol.

“Whatchu think. That I was just fat. Get the fuckin’ nurse, please.” Chiquita’s left eye had begun to twitch and the rose tatoo on her cheek was jumping spasmodically.

“Go get the nurse, Miz Carol, I’m havin’ Pookie’s baby.”

Auntie Carol ran to the nurse’s station only to be greeted by a ghastly sight. One of the psycho students, high on PCB, was holding a knife to the nurse’s throat and saying, “I’ll kill you, mother.” The nurse a stout lady ordered Auntie Carol to back slowly out and that she had the situation well in hand. Auntie Carol went out in the hall and called both the police and an ambulance. Then she ran back to the classroom in all due haste. She found the girl’s had found to pillow to slide under Chiquita’s ass, and they were all chanting. “Push, Push!” They formed a circle around the writhing girl.

Lala, not to be outdone, said, “Get that little cocksucker outa ya, Chickie.”

“Don’ you call Pookie’s baba names, ya slut!” said Chiquita who then went into a disertation about how she was going to cut his motherfucking balls off and eat them raw over a bowl of Spanish rice.

“Sorry, hon, I got carried awawy. It was worse when I had my daddy’s baby. Ay! La pena (pain). Que chinga tienes, mujer.” (What trouble you have, woman).

“Ay! Miz Carol! This gone kill me. Voy al infierno. (I’m going to hell). I done sinned against the Blessed Mother! Ay! Ay! Ay!” sreamed Chiquita, “It won’t pass! Something’s wrong, Miz Carol.!”

“Ay Yi, yi yi, canta no llores, (sing don’t cry, a Spanish song)” said Auntie Carol under her breath and promptly plunged her hand into Chiquita’s cunt, saying, “Forgive me for this impropriety, Dear.” She turned the baby around and it came busting out like Merry Christmas and All of God’s Heavenly Angels. The ambulence then arrived and the med tech congratulated her on a job well done and loaded Chiquita and her baby onto the stretcher and took her away.

When matters quieted down Lala said softly, “I aint knowed you spoke Spanish, Miz Carol.”

“Didn’t know, Dear, didn’t know. Well, I do what I can, Dear. And she wiped her brow with her scented linen kerchief with the monogram on it.

CAROL ANN writer of Poems of THunder (Noir&Whimsy) @ Amazon & Barnes&Noble.com

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