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Archive for December, 2011

OH, THE POOR DEARS

Darling, we must help these poor unfortunate. I’m looking for the lady with no sense of direction. I’m afraid she’s wandering around like Hamlet’s ghost. I am reminded o that move, “FreaKs” where the little people attack the full size floozy girl.

“I think I do. Remember last night we watched the 30s movie cult classic “Freaks” The one directed by Todd Browning who directed “Dracula” with Bela Legosi. From a story by Tom Robbins “Spurs” They were really freaky there. the half boy whose body stopped at the ribcage and the fat lady, the Siamese twin sisters who looked like they were stapled together, Daisy and Violet Hilton, the other Hilton sisters, the bearded woman, the ultra thin man, the pinheads, the He she and so many others. Oh those twin sisters were really close to each other. But not nearly as close as we are to each other. You know the fat lady reminds me the career counselor at the special school in Allentown told super fat Mike how as long as there was a side show he’d never fear unemployment. That was so dear of him to look after FatMike’s welfare. Do you know where the train schedule is?” “Yes I do” replies Lynda. With that she gets the timetable and they check it out.

They get to the Intercourse PA train station in ninety minutes. They notice plastered throughout the station and just outside it, posters for “The World’s Cheapest Freak Show.” The two check out one of them and they discover its a short walk from where they are.

“Well here we are the world’s cheapest freak show.” Let’s see if it lives up to its name”

They enter the exhibit. “I am really glad I’m here. Ever since I was little I was fascinated with freaks. When I was six my parents gave me a book with photos of a two headed turtle and two headed snake. I remember seeing “Ressurection” movie on TV and a little boy pets a two headed snake. “Speaking of snakes does that remind you of anything?” “I deign say so.”

The tape is narrated by the actress Megan Fox who was born with stubby thumbs. With her melliflous voice she explains that due to the economy the major freaks moved on. This is all the town can afford. She tells the listener to turn right and walk a few short steps to the first exhibit where a pleasant looking young man is standing. He is dressed in a dark brown wool blazer with a blue and white thin vertical striped cotton shirt. He is wearing Gap jeans. He wears clunky brown shoes with white socks. His nose is somewhat large but not so much to be disconcerting. Dark brown hair and eyes. Lady Lynda being too too shy to ask herself, asks Seymour to question him. Toze wanting to please his Lady Lynda inquires why he’s there. “Unfortunately I developed a deviated septum. The bone and cartilage dividing the two nostrils is crooked. Oh the terrible unfairness of an invisible disability. If I was crippled, blind, a hunchback people would understand. But no I had to be born with a physical deformity nobody would know unless I tell them. Its so terribly unfair.”

Feeling deeply sorry for him they leaves. Toze mentions he won’t sleep tonight thinking of that poor unfortunate soul.

Next they notice a tall stout woman singing from the opera “Die Kluge” best known for the Opera singer Elizabeth Schwartzkopf. Her composure, atttiude is overbearing. This time it’s obvious what her freakishness is. She is completely tone deaf. She wears the Valkerie helmet with upturned horns. The problem she doesn’t realize it and her voice booms as she walks through the exhibit hall. Lady Lynda remembers on every April Fool’s day her elementary school principal would play a recording of some society woman who gave free opera concerts who was as least as terrible a singer as the Die Kluge woman.

The twosome next entered the exhibit’s snack bar. They see a woman with crooked little fingers serving the tea. She tells them she is grateful the local voc. rehab hooked her up with her current employment. She told them she found her true calling. She was born the way she was so she could be accepted as a professional tea pourer. She tells them she was constantly being fired from her typing jobs because of being born with little fingers she was incapable of straightening out. She lets Lynda and Seymour know its medical term is “Camptodactaly”

All the while, while Lynda and Seymour and others are walking throughout the exhibition a woman constantly bumps into them. They try to steer her in the proper direction. But as they do so, no matter how many times they try to redirect her, she winds up right back bumping into them. They realize she is part of the show. She is the woman with absolutely no sense of direction. She wears brown leather and white saddle oxfords with white anklet a cotton flared skirt just below her knees, with an elephant prin, carnation pink long sleeved woolen top. Her posture is constantly leaning forward as if she is in a hurry. She wears thick horn rimmed tortoise shell glasses. Her features are pointy, sharp. She goes by the name of Molly Sue Pendergrass.

Next the two comes across a man with Texas accent. He is wearing a Stetson hat, mahogony red cowboy boots with gold spurs, a red , white and blue flannel shirt. On his shirt is a Nascar fan button. He wears Wranglers Jeans. He’s 6’3 and built. He’s rugged looking like a middle aged Clint Eastwood. His thick Texas twang is so exotic to the locals. He is seen as a fascinating curiosity. They’ve never seen anything like him. They presume he’s from some exotic land.

As they are about to leave Seymour Toze tries to get a feel of his ladyfriend’s buttocks. But Lady Lynda being the lady that she is, thwarts him every time he tries to cop a feel. But being a typical disgusting male , Seymour does what he feels what he must do. He is a man and he feels he needs to live up to his nature. He refuses to give up. He’ll get that buttocks feel from Lady Lynda yet. And then he’ll casually reach around to her curvy bossom.

Just then the local hermaphrodite noticed what Seymour is doing. The freak yells at him “Trying to get cop a feel. Look at those knockers at that babe.” Immediately next is a somewhat high pitched feminine voice saying ” How uncouth, you cad. Remember you’re dealing with a lady too.” In a deep manly voice “You manipulative bitch”

“You mind your own business you disgusting freak. I’ll tell you what you can do…. You can go fuck yourself.”

The freak of nature says” “Well that’s better than what you can do. You’re just jealous. I’m self contained”

“Lady Lynda is the one for me” responds Seymour Toze.

“Oh Seymour my hero. my dear, you are so clever”

“Thank you my darling. I think we’ve seen enough of this place. Let’s find our ways out of here so we can be together at last once more. “

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Its me darlings, Lady Lynda:
When Miss Wanda Lust told me my gentleman friend, Seymour Toze, was making out with that disgusting Plastic Patty I immediately took the trolley to my beau’s abode. Got out at his stop. Rushed to his door, breathless, determined for justice. I furiously knocked on the door. No response. Then recalled his habit of leaving the door unlocked.I turned the doorknob and voila there I was in his foyer. Can you imagine the shock I felt I saw him in corpus delecti, intimately cavorting with that hussie Plastic Patty. She was so passive. She didn’t lift a finger to stop him. I took the matter into my own hands or should I say my feet. I was wearing my silver and black diagonally striped leather open toed spiked heels. In my fury, I pushed Seymour off of her. Then I instantly climbed on top of I started stomping her with my spiked heels. My goal was to pound into her how I felt. I wanted to make her hurt even more then that disastrous session with the acupuncturist.
I could literally feel her sinking feeling. Oh how I delighted when I heard her moans that slowing diminished into barely audible sighs. I felt like I was kicking the wind out of her. Then suddenly I felt my beau on top of me. He told me of his love for me. Next I knew I felt him sucking my ten succulent pretties. I experienced such mixed feelings. What I thought would teach him a lesson only made him want me even more. Yet I must confess thoroughly enjoyed what he was doing to me. I was so shamed yet simultaneously stimulated. Oh yes!!

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“I would like to talk about a topic that is near and dear to me. Being of the Jewish persuasion I celebrate Hanukkah. No make that us Jews observe the holiday. yes we get out electron microscopes and we carefully scrutinize every part of this special day. Just a bon mot. Hanukkah even though it originated near the birth of a certain Jewish boy. Legend has it in a stable. I suppose being the Christmas season the hotels were booked. At any rate Hanukkah is not Judaism’s version of Christmas. Nor for that Christmas the christian version of Hanukkah. Though I sincerely wish my dear Christian friends a merry Christmas. To each their own I say.
Lady Lynda wags her finger at the crowd seated in front of her. To signal emphasis. She cleared her throat. Took a sip of water and continued with her speech. As she talked she looked at the people’s expression to see their how they were responding. How friendly, interested they were.

“This holiday is in remembrance when around 100 BCE. That’s our version of BC The letters stand for Before the Christian Era. Oh pardon my interruption. Continuing on. The Maccabees , fighters for the faith defeated the dastardly Syrians and Greeks who ignominiously forbade our folks to practice our faith. How truculent of them. I suppose they never heard of the expression. Practice makes perfect. To add insult to injury they made our ancestors worship a pig in their Grecian temples. Pigs are not kosher. The Hebrew word is tref. It means unclean. The Hebrews took umbrage with their rulers. Mind you I am utterly certain modern day Greeks and Syrians arn’t like that these days. One must not condemn any ethnic group for how they were in the past. Its in the past. I say let go of it. Tata”

“This special day lasts seven days. The reason is there was only enough oil for one day. What a miracle. Oh such fortuitous event. The oil lasted seven days. Ergo we are in observance for one week. Some of us light a candle holder with seven structures for seven candles. The explanation for this is the larger one is in the middle. With this one we light a candle for each of the seven days. Me personally I skp this part because Heaven forbid I would inadvertently start a fire. But most of us do. The true meaning of this time of year is religious freedom. To be free to worship as we please. Oh by the way there is one similarity with Christmas. One that is quite important to our dear boys and girls. Their mothers and fathers give out a gift a day. Some of give out little flat round chocolates wrapped in golden foil to represent money, or in the Hebraic language gelt. Some of us spin a top with eight sides called a dreidal. We bet on what side with wound on the surface it is on. Sometimes we sing “Dreidel dreidel dreidal. I made it out of clay. With dreidal, dreidel. We dreidel I will play. Lady Lynda sang in a sweet contralto. We make potato pancakes called Latkes. So in essence it is a major time for us Jews. ”

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“Merv Griffin, A Christmas Tale”

This is Auntie Carol, Darlings, and as the French say, “Je suis tres jolie”! Have I got a Christmas Tale for you! OY vey! Oops, I am not Jewish nor am I French but just wish that I were! My Tale starts in the traditional way. It was late Christmas Eve and I was alone. How cliché, my goodness. Ten lashes with a wet noodle! Oh, me! I was watching the snow come down softly as a feather outside my window, and I saw a redbird puff out his feathers and give a little shiver as he was perched on the branches of my beautiful blue spruce, and I took it as an omen that this was going to be one spectacular Christmas, indeed.

It was about 11:00 O’clock at night, and I decided to walk down the Avenue of the Arts to the Art Museum, a stately palatial structure with Greek columns. I had on my green velvet sheath trimmed in white rabbit fur and my red coat and stocking hat with my shiny patent leather boots and green and white striped hose. I wore little black fur lined mittens for what did I need my fingers for. To Play the Moonlight Sonata? I think not, Dears. The snow was about ten inches deep and still coming down like the inside of a paperweight when you shake it. So gently did the snow caress my cheeks and I felt its cold wetness on my eyelashes. I was so thrilled. Nothing but me and the elements. Alors! And heavens, yes.

When I got to the bottom of the steps at the art museum, I took a huge swig of my Salignac brandy and it burned all the way down to my tippy toes, and I thought, “Life is Grand”. Inside my head I heard the Trans Siberian Orchestra playing “Christmas Sarajevo,” or “Carol of the Bells,” as it is sometimes called. This was followed by the Jackson Five’s, “I Saw Mommie Kissing Santa Claus” and countless other tunes. I have a constant symphony playing in my head at all times, and then a random thought will come in like, “I think I’ll eat another sugar cookie” or “Do I smell like roses”. The mind is a strange thing or at least, mine is. Oh, me! I crack myself up! Here’s a little bon mot for you. Why is Frostie so popular? Because he’s a cool guy!

Well, back to my story. I ascended all the stairs and stood in front of the Museum, and took out my new binoculars to view the gargoyles and griffins perched on the roof of the edifice. Such mad eyes and fierce grimaces. How these ancient mythological creatures thrilled and excited me. I like scary things, and scary people. I was put I n mind of the droll and comic drawings of Edward Gorey in The Alphagory which goes, “A is for Amy who fell down the stairs: B is for Basil devoured by bears.” I took another giant swig of brandy. Oh, please I am not an alcoholic: It was cold! Then the strangest thing happened, One of the griffins went missing from the roof. There was an empty space where he had been! You might know that a Griffin is a lion with an eagle’s head atop his neck. Or if you didn’t, you know now. Well, I puzzled a bit about this a while then I started thinking of kittens playing with balls of colored yarn. You know how it is.

Then after amusing myself with a jumble of silly and inappropriate thoughts, I descended the stairs to make my way back home, and what in the world. I heard the sound of wings and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Alors, and there stood the missing griffin, and he seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. His head bobbed up and down. You know how birds do! He had come to life and was no longer stone. He had beautiful, platinum coat of hair and little red beady eyes like an albino rabbit.

When in doubt make conversation. Words lull the savage beast… or person. I told him my name and asked him what his name was and he made a sound like, “Murf”. And I asked if that was his name again and he repeated the sound even more emphatically. “So you’re Merv Griffin is that it?” and he blinked his eyes twice, which I took for a yes. It seemed polite to ask him if he was hungry and he bobbed his head twice and I tried to think what a griffin would eat and hopefully, not my pale human flesh. As if he read my thoughts he went over to the trash can and came beck with a Big Mac wrapper and I inquired if he wanted to go to Macdonalds and he said, “Grok” which I took as a yes.
Having read a number of fairy tales, I realized I should get on his back, or possibly I did it because I was thinking of Charles Dickens’ Christmas Carol where magic spirits took Ebenezer on a spiritual journey. This was just what the doctor ordered, as it turned out. When we Got to the only Macdonalds open, a young clerk with green hair and multiple face piercings looked up in surprise, and said, “Wow, a griffin. Way Cool. What can I get ya? Big Mac and cheese fries right.?” I ordered ten of them with Mayo and unions and tomatos and the fries.

The night manager, an elder black woman came out and said, “What in the world is that thing? Help me, Jesus! Lord! Lord!” And she fanned herself with her hand. “Lawrence did you slip me a tab?”

“No, Tamika. It’s a griffin. You know make-believe only real. Ya know, ”replied the youth.
Right then “Merv” passed a very large cloud of gas. And I apologized and said he was just hungry.

“Oh, no, he didn’t, ill. Not in my store, you don’t. Git your stuff and go. I aint up for no hallucinations on Christmas eve.!” Intoned Tamika.

“Where’s your Christmas, spirit, Tammy?’ asked the boy who flipped back his green hair.

“In the shit can with the old bread and pickles. Don’t give me no shit, Lawrence. I am not the one!” she said. “Comin’ in here with a monster and scarin’ the crap outa’ me. You ought to be ashamed of yerself!”

We got our stuff and left immediately and I surmised the griffin was feeling somewhat chastised as he did not meet her gaze and stood patiently by the door while we got the burgers and fries. Then the most miraculous thing happened. We flew with Philadelphia glistening below us like crushed diamonds in and the stars in the night sky were so bright, so intense, it brought tears to my eyes and I smelled all the Christmas dinners cooking.

I closed my eyes for a minute. Before I knew it we were inside a stately mainline mansion in Bryn Mawr. Being invisible has it’s advantages: you can hear all the gossip and never be accused of passing rumors and you can drink all your want and nobody will say, “Don’t you think you’ve had about enough.” So I sipped the expensive amber champagne to my heart’s content and ate a piece of deep dish pumpkin pie with mounds of whipped cream while “Merv” ate one whole roast beef and he threw back a number of Stolichnayas. Of course you know I had to pour it into his beak as well as cut the big roast into chunks for him. I just knew it was only a matter of time before he let loose with a huge fart. Griffins though fascinating, are not always couth. I was not disappointed, nor surprised when he did.

The Christmas tree, a thirty foot blue spruce, was decorated with tiny white Italian lights, and festooned with red and green balls, candy canes and little Raggedy Anne dolls. There were chandeliers in all the main rooms, and red Persian rugs on the wood floors. The tables trembled with the sheer weight of the sumptuous meal. I will not recount everything for I feel you know what they had. I took note of the Ice swan and cracked lobster claws, and I especially liked the radish roses on top of the oysters on the half shell, and they had numerous colorful, edible flowers in the salad. The woman glowed like beautiful white roses in the arms of their Alpha male husbands, women any man would be proud to hang on his forearm. The colors were a shimmering pastiche of reds, greens, gold, bronzes and silvers. Oh, shimmering, shimmering, like an artist’s palette. And the music was transcendent, Lou Rawls singing, “Merry Christmas Baby, You Sure Look Good To Me.” and Louis Armstrong reciting “The Night Before Christmas.” Nobody noticed our thievery as rich people are not known for eating a multiplicity of things. Thin as vampires, they pirouetted on the ballroom floor, almost oblivious to the food. Gauntness is a virtue among the super rich who cannot pinch more than an inch. The children like little, merry pixies sat in the stairwell watching the adults with sweet, cinnamon smiles on their lips, and bright wondrous eyes. We left the party around 4:00 am. just as Santa landed on the roof, and all the revelers had gone home.

We went to one more house, a poor people’s house in North Philadelphia on Ogontz Avenue. A half eaten box of KFC chicken sat on the table with cold grits in congealed butter and also, greens and ham hocks wilting in a cracked blue bowl. No presents were under the tree which was made of stark silver. I cleared the table and wiped it down and in the space of a split second there was a full turkey dinner and all the trimmings on the table with three or four desert pies including sweet potato pie covered with whipped cream. There was also an old fashioned cloved ham with pineapple slices on the plain rustic table. The griffin went over to the poor, pathetic tree that was rotating on its stand with a multicolored light shining on it, and bobbed his head up and down as birds are so wont to do. In its place appeared a giant fir tree with angels and pixies and redbirds peeking from its massive branches and he created old fashioned bubble ornaments that glowed in the still, cold air. With a sudden crack of thunder from out of the blue, huge, brightly colored packages appeared under the tree. And ‘Merv” the Griffin, winked his beady eye at me, said “Grok” again, and lowered his large frame so I could mount him as we flew through the dark purple sky toward my home.

That’s all I remembered when I awoke in my massive canopied bed Christmas day. There was one large pearl on my bedside table and an ornate card emblazoned with a rapido-graph drawing of a Griffin. It said “Yours Truly, Merv,” on the inside. Feliz Navidad, amiga!
CAROL ANN- Writer of Poems of Thunder # Amazon.com & BN.com

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Hello Lady Lynda exclaimed in her perfect diction speaking voice. Dearies. I am taking a respite from my etiqutte tour for a cogent solution to the “War on Christmas” It seems that every year some folks claim there is a war on this winter holiday. That this Christian holiday is beleaguered. That the phrase Merry Christmas is constantly being confronted with obstacles. Such as stores, malls, shopping centers putting up signs that say Happy Holidays. This may be a capricious thougth on my part. But I somehow suspect those poor dear store owners dastardly scheme is to show impartiality, inclusiveness. But than again I’m no expert here. Its only a suspicion. I deign to consider that putting up words such as this is done for a devious reason. The business people want as many customers as possible. Oh how mercenary of them!!! Can you imagine a store executive being selfish. Not wanting anything deleterious to their business>

Yet by putting up these Happy Holidays signs, many folks think these store owners and workers are emphatically harming their sales. They claim that Christmas is being ignobally ignored. I ardently differ. Nobody is stopping fellow Christians from saying Merry Christmas to each other. Or putting on display in their homes with Christmas Trees, red stockings with white felt trim. Or for seasonal wreaths. Or Santa’s waving made up colored lights. Or for that matter blinking color changing lights on their trees and on their lawns. White lights shaped like rain deer. One of them with a red nose. Get the picture dearies? Or for that matter anyone putting on decorations for their faith.

Well I believe there is a solution that will please virtually everyone. Here is my proposal. Keep the Happy Holidays signs but include either other signs or decorations with other Winter holidays. There could be symbols for Hanukkah for folks of the Jewish persuasion. Those who are Wiccan there could be cool yule symbols. By the way did you know the Christmas tree is derived from the Yule log? Happy Kwanzaa to our Africa American friends. For our Hispanic shoppers the words Feliz Navidad somewhere. For Atheist there could be Happy December. Lastly for Agnostic there could be something like Happy Holidays but its really unknowable.
The decorating doesn’t need to be expensive. Some drawings with tinsel would be sufficient.

I consider this could be the perect way to please truly everybody. This would be a truly egalitarian way. It would not favor any Winter celebration but include each and every one of them. True it may cost somewhat more. But the more consumers pleased, the more consumers purchase gifts. And to business people isn’t that the bottom line?

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IT”S CHRISTMAS TIME, PRETTY BABY

This is the Black Orchid, my darlings, and have I got a Christmas Tale for you. I have Elvis singing Christmas songs on the CD player. “It’s Christmas, time, pretty baby and the snow is fallin’ down.” Nothing like Elvis to warm one’s blood. This is Christmas Eve, and I am waiting for my erotic encounter, with Le Jolly Old Elf, Himself, Santa Claus. After we finish our Tete a Tete, he is even more Jolly or in French, Tres Jolie. I think it important for you to know I can wrap my legs around my neck. This came in handy when I entertained a troupe of clowns from Cirque Soleil. Afterward, they tended to dally around doing flips in the air and such and I had to whisper to my acolytes, “Get rid of these clowns!”. Love is like an orchid: it wilts…

With Santa, I like to extend our mutual admiration society. It is seldom I have sexual congress with one of my peers, an immortal like myself. I remember last Christmas, when Santa was in a blue funk and I asked him why the malaise of spirit and he replied, “Frosty died.” I took him in my alabaster arms, and held his face against my breasts, and said, “We cannot always understand the ways of God. It was his time, Dear.” I think he felt somewhat comforted, and he rose to the occasion. Oh yes, he did.

Well, on with my story. I am so proud of my Christmas music. I have Lena Horn & Louis Armstrong reciting “The Night Before Christmas” and “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” with Boris Karloff narrating. I also have numerous other gems like Lou Rawls, Elvis, and the Jackson Five. And I want to tell you about the real Santa. The song, “I Saw Mommie Kissing Santa Claus” is fact not fiction. Dare I say it? Santa is a naughty boy, Dears! And I am glad of it. If I close my eyes I can see his massive Instrument in my mind’s eye.

I usually Christmasize my house on the Eve of Christmas by putting glowing white candles in all my rooms as Mon Claus likes a merry atmosphere, and he especially likes the orange light casting its beautiful shadows in a chiascuro pattern, and he likes the way my flesh takes on a golden, orange tinge. I cook apples and cinnemon to flood the house with a strong scent of happiness and peace and I tell my slaves to have the night off and go frolic and give each two thousand dollars. The Lord does not love “stingy”, my friends. At any rate, I decorate with spruce and holly berries on the fireplace mantle and the staircases. I think scent is very important in establishing a mood as is lighting. The spruce breathes its sharp, happy essence into the air. I bake his special yellow, apple cake and smother it in rum days before, and I also bake honey and cracked wheat breads so he will know I am domestic. However, I will say that the way to a man’s heart is not through his stomache: It is considerably lower down. If you would know the truth. I have a thirty foot tree in the main ballroom with one lone silver star on top, the Star of Bethlehem. Never mind how I acquired it. I shall not tell you as it embarrasses me. I also put little colored Italian lights and bubble ornaments on my tree. Faux foxes, squirrels and redbirds peak out between the branches and I must tell you that a very large part of me is the artist. I made my own ornaments, seashells painted Chinese red and metallic silver. On the pearly insides I put little sprigs of greenery with tiny candles or sometimes elves, reindeer, or angels. Little worlds inside shells. I love Christmas. Oh, yes I do. Sometimes I look in the red, green, silver and gold balls and laugh as I see my face reflected in the balls: It looks like I am a fat faced cupid blowing wind out of my mouth. This always makes me laugh and I laugh all the time, especially on Christmas. Tres Magnifique!

There are so many myths I must dispel about Santa. Yes, it is true that he visits each house leaving toys for the children, their heart’s desires. He does not enter by chimney: he has a magic key which opens all doors. The major myth about Santa is that he is androgynous, and uninterested in sex. This is blatantly untrue for I have seen his “Godhead” many a time. It is not that he fails to love his wife. It’s just that like all men, Santa, though an elf craves erotic excitement.

Let me tell you of my evening with Santa. Santa, true to legend does like milk and shortbread cookies and then he moves no to the Salignac and expensive cheeses which I feed him with my hand. I wear my dark, green velveteen, fur trimmed sheath with the breasts cut out, and as I feed him I keep my breasts level with his face that he may grab them as the fire of the brandy slides down his throat. My breasts are like two hard, little lemons and as I sit in his lap he sucks on them. We always start slow as he needs to unwind from his high pressure job. I know he likes my thigh high spiky patent leather boots, and darlings, it is true that patent leather does reflect up. I am a wry and seductive woman and I feel his excitement from under his red velvet pants. Yet, I do not surrender soon nor easy. A prize gotten too easy is worthless. I see lust exploding in his cerulean blue eyes and I draw back and magnify his lust ten fold as I put on Gregorian chants and strip down to my panties. I do a belly dance for him, a real belly dance I learned in Egypt while being a slave girl to the famed Nefertiti. I do move my body: I move the muscles in my stomache. I think I shall mention that my thong panties are made from raven feathers, ( a paen to my favorite author, Edgar Allen Poe). The sweat glistens on my silken limbs, and I feel the cold winter air coming in from an open window. I am at once, hot as molten lava inside, and chilled by the relentless breeze.

At the moment of absolute lust, Santa disrobes and sits on the white polar bear skin rug located on the floor next to the raging fire. I like the blue flame the most as it is the hottest. His hand moves so fast on his cock and cannot be seen by mortal eyes. I continue to resist, and keep on dancing until he releases himself as I caress my own body mimicking an orgasm. I might add, at this juncture that his elves are looking on, hungrily looking on at our darling little joining of spirits. I clean him up like a modest slave, then I slap him hard across the face, and in a lithe, cat like way, I drag my long talon like fingernails over his nipples, cutting to the quick. He becomes hard immediately, and sputters insults to me like “harlot, strumpet and whore”, and he slaps me back leaving a pink blotch on my cheek. And this thrills me as I mount him from the top, guiding our movement, soft and gentle interspersed with rough and wild. I am making him think I am like two women, one kind and loving, the other harsh, and violent. I am like an Escher drawing, cryptic, and unknowable. The violence of my thrusts pushes us both over the edge. And all reason and sanity eludes us as he melts into me like one lone, white candle eating up the darkness of my secret cave.

And from the deep barrel of his chest he roars, “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

And I say, “What, darling? An editorial comment at this stage in the game?

CAROL ANN writer of POEMS OF THUNDER @ Amazon.com & BN.com

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Lady Lynda, sitting on her rose pink divan, fanned herself to try to eliminate her vapors. The now celebrity etiquette expert was hard at work thinking up some bon mots for her upcoming lecture in Rose Tree PA. Roses enlivened her tender sensibilities. The flowers of love. Yet as she polished her manners tidbits she basked in the glow of continuing spectaculsr tour. Yes she at last found her true calling. She would talk about how utterly important decorum was in virtually every situation. It was essential for men and women to be mannerly. The worst fault was to be uncouth. One must consistently be couth.

With her fountain pen , the lady of Seymour Toze began to write in an elegant lady like cursive script some notes. If it was a font it would be Edwardian Script ITC The very idea of using the writing word program on her computer was so plebian.

The woman told her self she was say the following at her talk. To even mention, let alone sing the “Band” song sung by Levon Helm “Stage Fright” to many actors and actresses would be the height of cruelty. These are such sensitive souls. Those poor dears with their rapacious fans. It would be the height of disrespect. Speaking of that word, never mention height to a little person. That phrase rubs it in that they’re vertically challenged. On the other extreme, the height of considerateness is to be sensitive to other’s feelings. D. They might think you’re rubbing it in. What ever you do don’t ever give a dwarf short shrift.

Lady Lynda was ready for whatever she experienced. She took to the stage like a matador takes to the arena. She was proud, bold and most of all knew her calling. This was the career she was born to do. Good manners was her destiny, her mission in life. The middle aged woman appeared the height of style and sophistication with her prim mauve organza dress.

The proud woman stood as tall as she could with her five feet one frame. At least she made it pass the minimal requirements of the civil rights group for really short statured persons. Yes she barely made it but she did make it. But there for the grace of the LORD she poured her heart to those who were less fortunate than her, heightwise.

“I know I’m old fashion. This may seem quite quaint to you young men and woman here. I believe couples should be celibate before marriage. Remember no hanky panky. She waved her index finger at them. A quick kiss on the cheek is fine but please don’t get out of line. A chaste kiss on the lips. And other tips. A gentle embrace as you gaze at each others face.

One impudent young man stood up. He shouted “Isn’t that from a song by “Three Dog Night?”
Lady Lynda looked confused. She wondered what the chap was referring to. What did the American and Irish band do with celibacy, Her expression was that of consternation. The man who was showed such impudence began singing “Celibate, celibate, dance to the music.”

“No, no that’s not it at all. I fear you don’t know what I mean. she proclaimed indignantly. For your edification it means…I know what it means dearie. I was only joking with you. Can’t you take a joke? “I can’t take rudeness, disrespect. Getting back to what I was saying. Two people in a relationship should refrain from consumating it before becoming man and wife.”

“Every romantic twosome should respect each others chastity. Young ladies I think we talk honestly I feel you should draw the line. She touched her neck. Not here and certainly not here” With that sentiment and feeling she educated the crowd she walked off with a self confident smile on her pert pink lips. She beamed with pride as she exited the stage with thunderous applause.

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