Auntie Carol shuddered when she thought of her last assignment. It had to do with an amorous ghost, the haunting of her close friend, Ludmilla Rumpus, a sandy haired, sleepy eyed beauty and a 45 Year old virgin. Auntie Carol was hired to eject one Homer Jessup from Ludmilla’s house. He simply would not vacate the premises no matter how strident were Ludmilla’s objections. The problem was Homer was a non-person AKA a ghost, a spirit or what the black people call a “shade”

He was hopelessly in love with Ludmilla. He loved her lush, plump body, her sharp mind, and even the nervous twitch in her eye. Unfortunately, he was cold to Ludmilla in the literal sense. He was eight inches of icy cold, dast I say it…cock. He caused her shivers and not shivers of passion. Oh, me, no! A troublesome dilemma at best.

This is not to say Homer did not properly court her. Dead roses on her pillow and little faint love sonnets written in her writer’s script note book, and the scent of eucalyptus in the air. He oft put a glass of chardonnay, a petit for, and a cherry filled chocolate bar on her night table. At first she thought it was she herself who was hallucinating, or worse that she might be a multiple personality, doing all these things herself. She was beside herself, so to speak.

Then he began getting into bed with her, timidly caressing her ample breasts and tracing little art scenes in her Mount of Venus. He was terrifically fond of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights. It was then that she realized she had a spirit invasion on this occasion. Also she began to see him in a misty form, a very average man in short sleeved white shirt and black pants with a Walmart badge pinned to his shirt which read “Homer Jessup”. He was terribly thin and tall like a stalk of ripening corn, with his brown hair parted on the side like a little boy in grade school, and dolorous brown eyes like pools of maple syrup. He had a crooked smile like a grinning alligator. He lacked charm and wit, and was not at all attractive she mused, and not at all suitable aside from being a ghost. Ludmilla wanted a more romantic lover like Rudolph Valentino or the legendary Sir Lancelot, a man who would slay dragons for her, and give her the world on a string.

She wanted such a man to beat a path to her door and sweep her off her feet. The imaginary script ran through Ludmilla’s head about every tenth thought. It was this yearning that summoned Homer from his ghostly habitat. Yet, there was the real fact that Ludmilla was an agoraphobic and a romance writer making a meager living. Now she had this intruder and it was too delicate a problem for the police who would cart her off to the farm of funny if she mention their nocturnal trysts. Psychics wanted too much money and it always involved sacrificing a live goat drinking his blood and calling for the Lord Jesus. “Harumph,” she thought, “I know the Lord does not make house calls!” Ghost hunters wanted to spray her apartment with a sticky green substance resembling, and tasting like lime jello. Our Ludmilla, though hampered in many ways, was no foul fool.

So, Auntie Carol of the Primrose Detective agency was whom she called in. Being her dear friend and having a bare cupboard was the deciding factor in taking the job. At first, she appealed to his ego saying things like “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a situation like this?” “And you know no gentleman would force a lady to perform sexually.” And, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you know, for men living and dead, such as yourself.” Then she became more bombastic saying, “You know you’re dead, why don’t you just go to your final resting place and leave this poor damosel alone? Why don’t you Join the Lord in heaven.”

A pen began writing in Ludmilla’s note book, and need I mention only Ludmilla could see him through the mist. This is typical in stories such as this. Auntie Carol read his communiqués.

“Don’t want to, and more succinctly, I didn’t like Him. Such a gladhander.”
And Auntie Carol drew back is dismay. “How could you not like our Lord, Jesus?”
He replied, “Don’t like Father and Son but the Holy Ghost is fine by me.”
“Is that professional courtesy?” Inquired Auntie Carol.
“Yep,” he said, “Besides Ludmilla loves it when I come.” He wrote with such bragadochio.
“She’s a regular wild women and I never had better sex. In fact, this is the only sex I ever had. Girls usually left abruptly after desert saying they had to tend to dying parents and such.”

Reading the script, Ludmilla replied Indignantly. “When you come it’s like an ice water douche. Haven’t I told you a thousand times to leave me alone? Besides, I’m frigid…already.”
“Me thinks the Lady Doeth Protest Too Much. If not why do you do all that screaming, and gnashing of teeth. You are very orgiastic,” he further wrote.

“No, silly, I’m an epileptic. I was having seizures not orgasms. And I do not like those naughty sex toys you stick up my derierre, and that cock ring you wear which falls off because you are like plasma. And why do you have that life size rubber foot with a vagina on the back of it! I think you’re the weirdest person I ever met, and I want you to leave me alone,” retorted Ludmilla.

“Homer,” queried Auntie Carol, “Is this the first time you ever had sex with a woman?”

“Well, technically, yes,” he wrote, “if you don’t count the blow up dolls. I quit that because it was too much like having sex with a dead person.”
“I know there’s a joke in this somewhere,” replied Auntie Carol. “I think I have the solution to this particular problem. There is this acquaintance of mine, named Wanda Lust, Crack Whore, and I bring her in in my more difficult cases. She will have sexual congress with you and you’ll be begging her to stop. And she’s never frigid. She doesn’t care if you’re alive or dead: she’ll have sex with you. There’s the matter of her fee. $1000 per night. Do you have any money, Homer, you hid before your “unfortunate demise?”

“Look in the shoebox under the bed, There’s $5000 there my severance pay from from my last clerical position, and last time on earth. I got hit by a bus, and nobody came to my funeral. I was going to haunt all of them but decided that would be too malicious but I do go by their houses at night and leave their refrigerator doors open at night so all the food rots.”
“Wanda Lust will solve both your problems. Once Wanda has a man has Wanda, he doesn’t want anyone else,” Auntie Carol interjected.

“Well I didn’t like your cold intrusions into my private orifices not on little bit and now I find you been holding out on me, astardbe!”Intoned Ludmilla.
“Gold digger and cunt,” came the furious writing and many things maligning Ludmilla’s character which will not be repeated.

“Now is no time for contretemps. We’ve got the solution. Wanda will be by at 12:00 midnight. A solution is at hand, and you, Ludmilla, shall find my bill in the mail Monday. Today Is Friday the 13th. How odd. Odd Bodkins! I just had to say that little turn of phrase,” chuckled Auntie Carol.

As the clock struck twelve, Wanda rang Ludmilla’s door bell and stood in full vampire regalia, a black see through camisole with green interlaced ribbons, a purple cape lined with red satin, black patent leather thigh high pirate boots and a cat of nine tails. And she had a purple streak on the top of her Afro. She rightly assumed he would like a dominitrix would thrill an inexperienced person.

Her first command was, “Spirit slime, you gone kiss mistress’s shoes and I better see a sincere effort. I wants to see my face in them boots when you done. Then you gone pleasure yo’ mistress where the moon beams don’ shine and I demands an hour. I gone enthrall you and transport ya to goddamn heaven. You gone have the attentions of Miz Wanda Lust, World’s Finest Concubine. And after we done you gone gladly pay my fee for the time of yo’ life. I aint give a shit that you a shade. I sez come one, come all.”
Wanda Lust, ever the Whore Extraordinaire.



Auntie Carol and Lady Lynda were much distressed at the death of the Hohenzollern family, their neighbors. None survived but the oldest child, sweet Emmeline The rest of the family, mother, father, and younger thirteen year old brother died in a most ghastly state of cardiac arrest. They looked like fans at a Lakers game, tongues lolling out of their mouths and veins distended in the neck. Emmeline June did survive but was confined to an asylum for over four months in what appeared to be severe catatonia. She said not a word, just stared wistfully at the TV watching old “Dukes of Hazard” reruns. The only thing is her eyes did not move: she only stared straight ahead.

Auntie Carol exclaimed, “The poor dear,” while Lady Lynda remarked that it was always the innocents who suffered the most in this life.

“The good always die young, “ intoned Auntie Carol.

Lady Lynda said archly, “They were seventy-eight and eighty, hardly young, Carol.”

“You know one always says certain things in situations like this. They’re in a better place now.”

“Apparently you never saw Bosch’s painting, “The Garden of Earthly Delights.” Maybe they’re in the giant egg with legs or inside of the burning building. You never know what they did in life, their sins and so forth, though I think the boy might make it to heaven,” exhorted Lady Lynda.

“Dear, you’re in a state today. Why so wroth?” asked Auntie Carol.

“Seymour has been away for four days and I miss my huggles,” she replied.

“Is that what you call “it”. Herman, Emma always says cunning linguists and laughs his head off. Penal and renal make him laugh too. Any kind of rhyme delights him.”

“Tsk, Tsk, you just said a naughty.”

“Don’t says tisk, tisk, You know I hate onomatopoeia, sinks gurgling, cats meowing, horses neighing. Damnit don’t do it anymore!”

“I never knew you had such an aversion, dear,” said Lady Lynda.

“It’s not even that, really. The police department has hired me to crack the Hohenzollern murders or whom they think is the murderer, Emmeline. This, after four months in the house of looney. It’s obscene. It’s adding insult to injury. The poor dear, she’s heartbroken. And I’m to deceive and grieve her,” said Auntie Carol.

“Dear, you must be really stressed: you’re rhyming again. Only psychos and poets go around rhyming and maybe they’re one in the same. I don’t think I ever met a sane artist. It’s always the grape or heroin. Look at Janis Joplin if you don’t believe me. Or what about William Holden who banged his head on the table in a drunken state and killed himself. There are countless others to numerous to name. It’s a shame.”

“Apparently, you’re also ‘phone ringing, nobody home’. You just rhymed,” said Auntie Carol, who laughed.

“Comparing us is like comparing apples and oranges, dear. Do you think she poisoned them, Carol? On second thought let’s give her a neighborly visit. I’ll bake the bran muffin you make the Arabica coffee and cinnamon buns and we’re all set for a home visit.”

“Une bon idée, ma belle Lynda. And they arrived at her door two hours later like the Brady Bunch mother. “I feel nefarious in that I’m really a spy and the young girl has gone through hell, losing her entire family. Sometimes the plight of a detective is a gruesome thing.”

“That’s what you said about substitute teaching, love,” laughed Lady Lynda.

“No, subbing was like being covered with honey and staked on an ant hill!” chirped Auntie Carol. “Still, to my prior statement. She cremated them immediately and did not announce their demise in the Obits section of the paper. That is odd.”

“Oh, and painting them up and draining all their blood and making little children kiss the dead is a natural thing? Then there’s the drinking and stuffing one’s plate. Is that respectful of the dead. We do all the things they can no longer do just to spite them! There you go gurgle you old stiff and see if you can get a drink. Fat chance,” said Lady Lynda

“When I die I want to be stuffed and put right in front of your door as a lawn ornament. They can do me up like Botticelli’s Venus with the giant shell. No seriously it’s in my will,” said Auntie Carol.

“I adore your noir, dear. Oh, the door’s finally opening. It’s about time for Mr. Smiley Face!” said Lady Lynda.

They were quite taken aback as she was dressed in a red plaid skirt, short sleeved white shirt, with patent baby doll shoes looking like Christina Ricci in the Adams Family. She even had her long black hair braided into two braids and her eyes were a milky blue like a jet stream, and she had skin like white porcelain. Gaunt and disturbed, was she, with dark circles under her eyes.

“Dear may we come in? We’ve brought you some goodies, a little breakfast treat. I’m Auntie Carol and this is Lady Lynda. We want to help anyway we can. Consider us your family now, sweet pea. We’re just a stone’s throw away.

“I thought you were the social worker again. I’m going to cold cock her and not in the good way. See I can be funny. They want to put me with a “good” family like I need guidance,” said Emmeline.

“Dear,’ said Lady Lynda, ”you’re not mature enough to live alone.”

My parents were real old and I used to feed and look after them and my little brother, too. I tell you washing your parent’s private’s is not one of life’s greatest moments. I mean I miss them and all, and dream about them chasing me around the house as the ‘undead’ trying to eat me or bite me, what have you. So I don’t sleep. Because that’s what I get. Or sometimes they try to drag me in a long deep well with no light and I wake up screaming. I ran the house, gave the servants their daily orders and the first time I do something fun and get out of town for two weeks, they all croak on me.”

Dear, tell us how to help you. We’re here to ease your pain.” said Lady Lynda.

“Give me some coffee and cake, and don’t ask me how I feel. I get enough of that with the social worker and the shrink. Give me advice.”

“Dear, you must dress your age, not like a nine year old. And you must bathe more regularly as a lady must be dainty in her personage,” said Auntie Carol. “And a lady must never be tragic like Kim Novack in “By Love Possessed” dying heinously of syphilis. Be Scarlet O’Hara out of ‘Gone With the Wind’. Tomorrow’s another day. Think on the future not the past”, intoned Auntie Carol.

“That’s better. I feel better. Like you’re not trying to mess with my head,” she said. “Can I go shopping at some fancy stores and try a grasshopper at lunch in some fancy hotel. I never did any of those things. Things people take for granted. My parents were too old and sick to let me do those things and all my aunts and uncles are dead.”

“My, dear, you have never lived. Come stay with me and Seymour, for a fort night and learn what a normal family is. You were stifled by all the sickness and servitude. Of course we’ll
go out today and then will have all new things for you. So just walk out with your credit cards and a smile. Lunch at the Hyatt is on us, grasshopper too. You know a grasshopper is creme de menthe and crème, a frothy green fizz.

“I know but not really but I love the color green.”

I have to ask you, young lady, was there any malfeasance?” said Auntie Carol.

“No, it just was their time.”

“And your younger brother?” asked Auntie Carol.

“He was a tool, and didn’t deserve to live. But I didn’t conscript him into heaven.”

“How do you know he would go to heaven?” said Auntie Carol.

“Because he was too stupid to do anything wicked.”

“And You?” asked Auntie Carol

“I’m not stupid.

“You know if there’s any forensic evidence that turns up, they’ll arrest you,” Auntie Carol said.

“Justice will be served and the truth will out. I know that from watching Jerry Springer.”

“You, are one helluva person, young lady,” said Lady Lynda.

And the leaves on the tobacco plant wilted in the noon sun and they looked right at it. Certain parts of the tobacco plant are poisonous resulting in Tachycardia (rapid heart beat) and a comatose state that leads to death. It breaks down and cannot be detected as it is a plant poison.

“You poor dear, you’re an orphan,” said Lady Lynda reaching out to hug her.

SUBTITLE” Lady Lynda Shtups to Conquer

Oh I am in tizzy exclaimed Auntie Carol. Our Lady Lynda slipped into sin with such immoral behavior. It is Winter now. Is this the Winter of Lady Lynda’s discontent? Heavens say it isn’t true. I know there’s sense of coldness toward her spouse. A sense of coldness. Take that, darlings any way you want. She’s committed adultery She is as they say, enjoying the company of that world class lothario, Nick Venire. A professional painter who specializes in sensual female nudes. He himself is sensual too with his six foot two sleek body,tousled golden curls threatening to obscure his lapis blue eyes. His skin looking as if tanned by the Naples Sun. Of course his name is Nicolas.
Lady Lynda explained she’d call him Nick since he came…to her in the nick of time. Besides it rhymed with Dick.” The woman despaired as she thought how Nick and Dick rhymed with prick . The last word sorely reminded her of Seymour. She know he was using her as his domestic trophy. He preyed on her sense of pride. Now that she underwent a complete doctor implemented makeover program. Yes her now svelt form would she believed would be perfect for a portrait sans clothes That is except for a strategically placed satin drape. Lady Lynda reminded herself she was invariably a lady. Even when she wanted to more than merely observe. She desired to get into the thick of things. Seymour’s spouse figured she’d claimed Nick and her were merely friends”

Toze’s mate sorely remembered how Auntie Carol remarked “but I can tell they’re cavorting and lasciviousness. One can use their imagination here on what they do in private. My presumption is she is ever so gentle as to not to strike , like most men, his fragile ego. Talk about, “The Fall of the House of User.”

I know she believes Seymour is only erotically interested in her glorious , wondrously high arched, fatally fantastic feet. A woman must be true to her man no matter how little of her he desires. (Ruth)Bible. Wedding and then marriage vows. No matter what!!! Even if Joaquin Phoenix came on me. I Auntie Carol would be faithful to my Herman Sherman/Emma Enigma. Of course, darlings, you know my mate is a hermaphrodite. Herman Emma requires special care since its a threesome with two people. He/she is the best of both the feminine and the masculine, the softness of the female and the manly of the male. ”

Lady Lynda grimaced as she recalled how she wore same darn panties one full week because they reminded her of Nick. The woman felt nasty thinking about it. There were tinges of guilt over throwing away her true love for a cheap fling. Even worst Nick lived in the mansion next to her and her man. It was oh so too risky. Seymour loved her with all his heart. If only he loved her with the rest of him. It would be dastardly if he discovered her little secret. That she discovered as man who wanted her for more than merely her ten pretties.

Yes the fact she, Lady Lynda, found a man who wanted all of her. And yes Nick did. She loved posing for him sans clothing. Of course a modest drape for just this side of decorum. You know even with L’affair , Lady Lynda mused, she must live up to her self imposed title. She was Lady Lynda because she was consistently a lady. On her now shapely body thanks to her primary improved weight loss and exercise program, was draped a modest drape. The woman reflected on the difference between naked and nude. Nudity was when you were comfortable totally exposing yourself and that she was. Nicolas talked of the famous nudes of the Italian Renaissance. One of his favorites was Giorgione’s “The Tempest” There is a woman who nonchalantly breastfeeds an infant while a noble looking young man looks on. In the background is a bridge and trees rustling in the wind. It was full of atmosphere and mystery. The muted colors made the paining even more atmospheric. Just like the mysterious Nicolas Venire. Italian for come. Her new man tells her he was eleven when he saw this painting in an artbook he found in his local library. It inspired him to become a professional painter. He told too his new paramour that when he was eleven he knew beds weren’t necessarily for sleeping. Lady Lynda understood perfectly his drift.

Nicolas Venire’s new model felt a glow within her as she posed seductively yet discreetly for her creative lover. As she stood there she wondered how creative he was in bed. She looked eagerly forward to him saying the word. She felt pleased yet still awkward. There were some pangs of guilt being that she cheated on Seymour. Conversely once again she reminded herself her reason for being where she was , was she wanted a man who wanted her entire body. Not only her toes. A man who didn’t insist she wear flimsy flip flops no matter what she thought of them.

There were times Nick’s woman was so jubilant she wished she could text her happiness to the world. That is except for her husband. There was a silver lining being married to a toe fetishist. She held Nick even more in esteem. Yes she did her own research in finding a new lover. She never dreamed he would be her neighbor. Well there’s no place like next door she bemused. The woman couldn’t imagine going back. No, not when she discovered pure happiness. On the other hand Lady Lynda, perhaps pure was a strange word to use since what she was doing was anything but pure. Yet when she was with Venire she completely forgot how she was a married woman cheating on her spouse. The only thing she knew at this moment was how much she was grateful, Nick Venuto showed up in her life.

Lady Lynda couldn’t remember when she experienced such a satisfying relationship. She readily confessed that the moment she noticed the moment she first encountered the artist, he treated her like the female she sorely forgot she was. Yet deep down inside, realized she was very much. If only her feet weren’t so sore from standing so long. It seemed like hours. Lady Lynda glanced at her watch. The reality was she was posing for only twenty minutes. Well at least it was worth it. Being Nicolas was a connissior of the human form, especially female. It was no surprise he’d appreciate her womanly form. It was delightful the woman thought, to pose for him.

“Do you mind if you dine with me at the Cafe d’oro d’arco? The cuisine was an esquisite mixture of Italian and Greek. You might say El Greco and Roman style. There’s a chanteuse there who I am rather fond of…her singing. She is so expressive. She gives each lyric of the song the deepest, truest meaning. I adore her rendition of that classic “I only have eyes for you.” Originally sung in the 30s musical “42nd Street. You know most middle aged people , you know fifty and older remember the Doowop group, The Flamingo’s version. Man their sound was as cool as a summer night with a soft refreshing breeze. By the way I finished my painting of you. Want to see it?”
Lady Lynda grimaced slightly when he mentioned fifty. How would he feel if he somehow discovered she was ten, perhaps fifteen years his senior? The woman tried to get that possibility out of her mind. Instead she walked over to her portrait. It was truly impressive. He painted her as she forgot she was. A woman who deserved to be loved for every single part of her.

“Come with me to the window. It’s such a beautiful dusk tonight. Its so clear and clouds are as fluffy as cotton candy. The stars’s sparkle’s so beautiful in contrast to the electric blue sky. The man sang in a romantic tenor. “Are the stars out tonight. I don’t know if its cloudy or bright. I only have eyes for you dearrrr. I don’t know if we are in a garden. Or on a crowded avenue. You are here. So am I. Maybe millions of people go by. But they all disappear from view…..For I only have eyes for you”

Yes it was true, Lady Lynda only had eyes for Nick Venuto She felt it deeply in her heart and in her gut that he felt the same way too. The grateful woman loved every single minute she was with him. Her thoughts turned to bliss as she cherished each moment they were united. They continued their tryst with the knowledge that they were feeling truly right for each other. He took her to plays, dance recitals and of course art gallery openings in Philadelphia, New York City and Washington D.C. Not only his but his artistic crony’s as well.

The couple dined at restaurants ranging from the finest cuisine at the elegant eating establishments to the casual and carefree. Where they could kick off their shoes and play footsies under the table. Lady Lynda cringed as her foot touched his. Nicolas’s paramour immediately thought of how she desired an affair because she wanted to get as far as possible from a man who only appreciated her feet and toes. Now here she was in the if not the exact same in an extremely similar situation. Well maybe Seymour wasn’t so bad. At least she knew he loved her. Nick might of come in the nick of time. But his debonair , sensual ways with her was only to mislead her. He too was a foot and toe fetishist. At least there’s was a stable relationship. She knew where she stood with him. With Nick it was fling , a romantic sensual one, but a fling non the less. With her mate it was the real thing. Maybe he’d go to a marriage counselor with her. So they both could be truly satisfied being husband wife.

A couple days later Lady Lynda happened to gaze out her and Seymour’s picture window. Lo and behold she immediately observed a male and female snow couple on the lawn of Nick Venire The man with a carrot strategically placed. It was not being used for his nose. The woman in a shapely hourglass form. Her snow hand was over her snow femininity. Nick Venuto’s house was painted with black polka dots on garish hot pink background. It was obvious Nick was seeking revenge. least Seymour had good taste.

Mr Adzhole Sillypeder “Gits Hitched”

Y’al sometimes you jes’ got to thank the Lord fo’ yo’ good fortune. This be Ol’ Wanda Lust.I done brought two very good people together, Mr. Adzhol Sillupeder and Tilly the Ten Cent Tart. Today, this Satidy, they gone git’ hitched and he gone give our charity a cool million to show his gratitude. That be Lady Lynda and Auntie Carol’s charity fo’ the po’ unfortunates and otherwise fucked over folk. They know they can’t say the whole damn world but they can sho’ save a part of it. They good Christian woman and so is I cuz I aint never cheated no John. When he be wid’ me he gone git’ the works. Ya gots to take pride in yo’ work and I does.

Well, I know Tilly aint fake it fo’ the money: she real sweet on him ‘cuz he the first John who ever love her for herself and not just a piece of tail. I tell ya they both be parched fo’ love and this be just what the doctor ordered. I kinda hates to ponder what they offspring gone look like ‘cuz Tilly want about a dozen children and I sez, “Dang, Tilly, it aint like they a dozen eggs, Gurl, and you twenty-eight, You aint no spring chicken.” Lord knows if you good lookin’ yo’ life can be a cake walk. If you ugly, you damn sure better be rich. I don’ say none o’ this to her though. It aint seemly to hurt nobody’s feelins’. They sho’ aint gittin’ the Gerber Baby.

Well, today, is the day they git’ hitched. Be a big, bright Satidy wid’ blue jays just flappin’ round in the sky. And a real playful wind tryin’ to blow yo’ hat off yo’ head. I loves these March days wid’ the sky all bright and piled up wid’ clouds. They got an Indian minister to marry them as Mr. Adzhol is Indian, and he want the vows in Hindi and Tilly jes’ memorized the words. She want him to feel wunnerful and I believe she did wearin’ that light yella checked sundress with lace. She refuse to wear white. Why start off wid’ a lie she say. I aint no virgin. He don’ care what she wear and he give her a big old diamond ring wit’ yella’ tints. She aint better bitch slap anyone with that big ol’ ring, gone scarify them fo’ sho’. But anyway that never happen: Tilly aint no bitch: she sweet like maple syrup.

Auntie carol and Lady Lynda say they aint bring they men when so many pretty “strumphets”
comin” what wid’ all my ho’ friends. Then there’s The Black Orchid who put any woman to shame. Lady Lynda say “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
And Auntie Carol say, “A remarkable conclusion Dear. We don’t want to tempt a bull with the red, do we, Dear.”
Lady Lynda and Auntie carol come all dolled up in pastels, pink and mint green suits. They looks like two fresh tulips plucked from the garden and then I mention to ya, those dang white gloves, lookin’ like Mickey Mouse hands. They in a fashion time warp, the fifties I say. Auntie Carol got her red hair all ratted up in a French twist, wid’ a ton of spray on it and Lady Lynda wearin’ a short pixie cut. Look like they spray painted their make-up on but I aint say nothin’ critical. Ya can’t tell nobody nothin’. Specially yo’ friends unless it’s something like, “Say there yo’ ass is on fire.” Mostly I don’ try to change nobody. It’s cuz’ I’m a good friend and a terrible enemy.

Then the ho’s start arriven’ but they dressed in suits and slinky sheaths with the tops cut low but nothin’ like they workin’ clothes. We workin’ gals know when we in the House of the Lord. Mary Magdalene was a whore and I done hear she Jesus’s wife. But that aint fo’ certain. How I gone find out? Read some damn movie magazine. I am strictly against them magazines. Why I want to know what these Hollywood folks is doin”? They aint shit to me.

Bonnie Beauchamp be probably the best lookin’ of all the gals. She git’ the most money. Some John say she look like “The Duchess of Alba”. And I look up the paintin’ and sees what he mean. She got a yella ivory colored skin and her back is curved into her ass like the I-90 freeway. It’s a beautiful long line like one of them ol’ fashioned Greek statues and she got a beautiful ol’ timey face like Audrey Hepburn and fiery almond colored eyes. Mens is always askin’ her to marry them but she sez she rather have a boss fo’ two hours than one fo’ a lifetime. Besides I think she gay. In other words she Meryl Streepin’ it.

At last, The Black Orchid come and there is a hissing like angry cats from the womins or I thinks there was. She pull up in a long black limousine and she have her two pet cats, a cheetah and a panther with rhinestone collars wid’ her. Mr. Adzhol was delighted: it reminded him of India and he go greet her hisself giving one of his hands to help her out of the car. The Ho’s was not all that thrilled but Lady Lynda and Auntie Carol were glad to see her and laughed at the two cats, petting them with their gloved hands. And if I was a man she be the one I choose. So thin, hipbones like a razor, small little peaches of a bust, legs all muscled from running and with heels 6’9’’. Strange beauty, like Italian Vogue, eyes emerald green and the most shapely mouth I ever seen. She look better than all the movie stars past and present. And she smell like dead roses and sex. Aint nobody like the Black Orchid and she aint give a shit that my girls aint like her at all. She jes’ glide on by them like they miserable frogs. She know they hates her. Mr. Adzole be very taken with her but he careful to keep Tilly close so as to not upset her. When the Black Ordhid laugh the crystal glasses kind of vibrate. It really weird like the sound of a lion coughing.

Meanwhile I tell my “girls” to chill and I tells them to flirt with Mr. Adzol and give him the time of his life but don’ let Tilly see it. When she in the other room wid’ Auntie Carol and Lady Lynda, I flirts wid’ him and says that if I aint be wid’ Ol’ Fat Harold, I be sure to choose him. He light up like a 3 way 100 watt light bulb and he gurgle, and smile kinda like “Goofy Grape”, the KoolAid commercial. I kisses him on the cheek when Tilly aint lookin’. If she done see it we gone be like the two Japanese lizards fightin’ to the death. Tilly sweet at heart but very possessive. I jes’ want to cheer up this misbegotten ol’ soul that he was, make this the best day of his life.

Mr. Adzol give up his miserly ways and make a damn good spread. Even if ya hated food you’d eat what he put out. Turkey, pheasant. ham, steaks and twenty vegetable dishes, and cheeses from all over the world and all manner of wines and liquers. The weddin’ cake be twenty tiers high, and all chocolate, even the frosting, Tilly’s favorite. She aint eat any of the main food just gobbling down pieces of the cake, a drinkin’ Champagne.
As day slipped down behind the mountain, The Black Orchid give the last toast.

“When the moon comes up this evening may it caress you with its cold, silvery fingers. May you stay with each other all your days and may you respect and love each other. You are not tabula rosa to be written on. Never write your name on anyone’s heart. The inscription is just too painful and is an act of violence. In the end the only thing you truly possess is your own soul. A person is a gift given to you not a possession. Adieu, mes amis.

I aint understand what she drivin’ at but it sho’ sound good to me. White people is always so confusing. But what the fuck. They all right wid’ me.


Hello, Y’al Whatup? This be Wanda Lust, Crack Ho’. This post be about Mr. Adzhole SillyPeder, the man who be contributin’ $300,000 to our charity each time. It pain him to give this much but he kinda’ in love wid’ me. He part spider and he got six arms goin’ ever’ which way all the time. I know he done hate givin’ me the money yet he got five Mil’ in the bank. In the meantime he lay out these stingy ass little feasts fo’ me, like three Stella Doro cookies and one cup of instant coffee with the powered creamer, and I mean ONE cuppa coffee. It so happened I likes brewed coffee with real cream, and I likes to pound down a shot when I concludes a deal. He act like her forget ever’ time and I know he too stingy to buy the booze.

The bastard got a cool five Mil in the bank and he can’t afford no bottle of Amaretto or some shit, and some goddamned cheese and crackers. Would it kill him: he act like it gone kill him. I know he stingy ‘cuz he aint have no real love as a chile. He aint never had no real love his whole damn life, much less any sex. So I hates to see such pain. Oh, he try to hide it, grinnin’ like a fuckin’ fox in the hen house. But his eyes be sad like a crushed coackroach. Mostly aint no woman gone fuck wid’ him in the Biblical sense, that is.

But Ol’ Matchmaker Wanda is alive and well, and I done got a woman fo’ him, a hunch back name of Ten Cent Tillie cuz’ she can only git’ $10.00 per trick. She ugly as a wall of shit and got a hunch like that ugly man who ring the bells in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, And she walk like the Frankenstein monster, all slow and jerky, but one thing I say that gal got energy and she pull in the bucks. The best thing is she always fall in love wid’ her Johns and want to marry them. She kinda spooky and a bit mental but she an English major and got her degree. I tell Mr. Adzhole I got just the women fo’ him and his whole face light up and I perceives he think I means me. I tell him it aint me but someone like me ‘cept she white like him. Then I sees tears wellin’ up in his maple syrup shade of eyes.
Then I says “No baby, I be married to Ol’ Fat Harold and I is not available.”
Then he say no wife of his would ever have to work like that and I tell him “The Life” is in my blood and I feels quite accomplished as I always gots my own money. The I tell him she be here at seven o’clock and I gone clean his damn house with the papers and clutter and dust and shit and them I also tole’ him I was gonna give him a bath and shampoo, and cut his tangled, damn hair.He balked at that and I say I once fucked Siamese twins and one liked it and the other didn’t. He the gay one. I told him I seen things that would scare the evil out of Dracula and that I had a kit of toiletries and did he have evening clothes, and we were goin’ to do it my way. Then I say be sure to tell her she pretty and sexy and that we gone go to market and git’ some fancy ass food, and the liquor store fo’ a coupla bottles of expensive champagne. And I tell him nobody perfect includin’ yours truly.

He done got a erection when I was bathin’ him in lavender/cucumber oils so I gives him a hand job. No offence to Tilly. I jes’ likes to please mens. Then Tilly arrive in a scarlet evenin’ gown with chinchilla shawl to try and hide the hump and she real sympathetic and start talkin’ bout Shakespeare and she say, “I am but mad, North northwest/ When the wind is southerly/ I know a hawk from a handsaw.” Shakespeare his favorite author, this I tole’ her and I tole’ I kick her in her bony ass if she fuck wid’ him. He a pathetic, sensitive human being who done had it hard in life. When I left they all up in each other’s face a kissin’ and a caressin’ and I thinks I better book it while he still got his dick in his pants. Three’s a crowd…sometimes. And this make me so happy. They got married come a month away. Yessir, Ol’ Matchmaker Wanda score one for Cupid and Venus.


The harshness of winter has not tamed my animal spirit for I am The Black Orchid, immortal and Bitch Extraordinaire. Cherish the memory of a red bird perched on a snowy branch of a tree or the quality of light filtering through icicles, or the brutal cold which makes you eyes tear. Worship all life brings you for you are impermanent.

Comes the rain, comes the thunder, comes the snow or hell and high waters, I shall survive, and so shall you. One does not always solve problems: sometimes one perseveres. Be stout of heart and no graceless, wilting flower, you. “Do not go gentle into that good night” said the poet, Dylan Thomas. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

I can never die and so many lives have flashed across my mind’s eye. Caligula, all drunk and sweating like a hog, drinking the gushing blood of a baby lamb. I so hated that man and was a slave girl, anonymous and forlorn, forced to satisfy his morbid lusts. Sometimes, I imagine I still have his vulgar stench on my flesh. I was not as powerful then as I am now. I loved the boy king of ancient Egypt, Tut Than Kamen, so creative and a lover of beauty. Neferititi rivaled me in beauty yet it was doomed to fade like dew on a rose Carpe Diem, Darlings, Seize the Moment. And I knew the greatest man of all, Jesus Christ. His limpid brown eyes radiated a power and goodness I had never seen before then or now. I gave Him water as he hung on the cross and proffered food which he refused. The blood was sluicing down his face in the hot summer air and I felt a sense of loss so profound I thought my heart would leap out of my chest.

Time flies and that is the only constant in living. I remember the ancient Sphinx, the pyramids, Stone Hinge, all the marvels of the ancient world as if it were yesterday. Carpe Diem, time flies like a gentle, moon drenched maiden tip toeing across a clover laden meadow. It is not the destination, Darlings: it’s the journey. Thousands of sunsets have I basked in like a happy lioness. Yet it is not only the quality of light: It is the secrets lurking in the soft, misty darkness that matter.

I am genetically related to the cat family, as my mother, a tribal shaman, mated with a male lion and begat me, dying in child birth. My early years were spent with the pride of lions and I still have the taste for a fresh kill. Thus I emerged from her womb in rage and beauty, glutinous for life. In my eleventh year, Ibrahim, a wise old man, and a wizard, enticed me away from the pride of lions, and he taught me, Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin and all the ancient languages, and the wisdom of the ages.

I so enjoy the things of this world. The taste of a fresh banana to me is a form of happiness and I love the grapes burst forth in such sweetness on my tongue. I no longer eat meat though I do crave it. But I never eat to the full for I cherish the raw feeling of hunger. I cherish my lustfulness and engage often in sexual congress. I relish my acolytes in the act a of love, their jutting cocks, honeyed kisses and their tears after coming. I take about five a night. It’s not that they are deficient: strong, muscular and able bodied are they all. It’s just that my orgasm is like Krakatoa, too hot for mortals, like a wash of lava and ash. And I growl when I come and this sometimes frightens them. So, I disengage as I climax so as not to injure them with the violence of my sainted loins.

I am here to tell you to worship the gift of life. Sadness is merely an unrhymed cadence: free verse if you will. Drain not your friends with tears and woe for unhappiness is contagious. Keep a stout, heart, Ye Mortals, and relish every moment for the grave awaits, an old man with a sickle, and yellow eyes. Cheat him with your happiness. Life is Lush, my friends.

CAROL ANN author of Poems of Thunder @ Amazon.com &BN.com

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