Month: November 2012

Mystery Date

Billy: Is Myra there?

Voice on phone (VOP): Speaking

Billy: You remember me? We spoke at the grocery store, you gave me your number, you wanted me to call you.

VOP: I don’t remember, but lately I have been forgetting things, and since we have an unlisted number, I must have given you my number.

The voice sounded a lot like the girl in the supermarket, but there was something different, something refined. The voice sounded even more sexy than Billy remembered, and since meeting Myra, all he could think about was this innocent looking, blonde beauty. The girl was unspoiled by the hood she grew up in, untainted and pure. That’s why Billy worked so hard to score with this one. He knew that at 21 years old, she wasn’t going to be available long, so he acted fast. How fast you ask? He only spoke to her half an hour ago, she was probably hoping he would call, but half an hour? Bet he sounded real desperate.

Billy: I can drop by in an hour or so, pick you up, we go for soda, hows that sound?

VOP: Soda? Wow, it’s been awhile, but you sound like a nice boy, so okay, let’s go! Can you give me a bit more time, how about you pick me up at ten, or is that past your bedtime…tee hee.

Billy: Aw Shucks, that is sort of late, but curfew isn’t until eleven, okay, I can do it.

VOP: see you then baby!

Billy didn’t get many dates. In this town, the hot babes were already spoken for by the time they were seventeen, but at 24 years old, he certainly wasn’t interested in jail bait, he liked his women a bit more experienced.

At seven, he called Myra just so he could hear her voice again. Billy was amazed at how different she sounded on the phone, and he wanted to hear more.

Billy: I bet you are prettying yourself up as we speak.

VOP: What the hell? Who is this?

Billy: We spoke earlier today, you agreed to meet at ten this evening for sodas.

VOP: Who is this? I didn’t speak to anyone!

Billy: Hey, maybe I got the wrong number, you don’t sound the same. Is this Myra? The girl from Food Acres? We spoke this afternoon, you remember me?

VOP: I remember talking to you at the market, but not on the phone.

Myra began to worry. “Not again, she can’t keep doing this to me, and not with this boy, he is mine, I worked hard to reel him in, she can’t have this one, no way!” she thought.

Billy: Look, I don’t know what is going on. I am set for a date at ten this evening. You said you would go, c’mon, let’s go.

VOP:  How about you come by right now and we go out? I know this great spot where we can be alone.

Billy thought about it and accepted. He was so anxious to see her again. He loved the way she walked, the way she spoke, most of all he loved her innocence. He was so inexperienced with woman, he worried that he may not be worthy of her.

Billy drove his Chevy up the road to 113 Lonesome Blvd, the address that was given to him by Myra earlier that day. He jumped out of the car, ran to the door and rang the doorbell.

Just when he began to worry that he had arrived at the wrong address, the door slowly creaked open. A tall shapely woman with a tight black dress opened the door. “Yes, can I help you?”

Billy: I was looking to talk to Myra. We agreed to go out tonight. Can you get her for me?

Tall Shapely woman (TSW): My heaven’s, you are early. I am not ready yet.

Billy looked at the woman in front of him. This definitely was not Myra, but she was beautiful. He would gladly trade a date with an innocent looking chick like Myra for a chance with this woman, this Cougar! Besides, where was he actually going to get with Myra on the first date? Maybe a kiss, this woman? For sure she would put out, he could tell.

“Maybe if I try a direct approach, she will either go to bed with me or kick me out, and if she kicks me out, I always have Myra to fall back on, and the way Myra looks, she is a heck of a plan b!” he thought, hornily.

Billy: You certainly look ready to me, ready to fuck that is!

The shapely woman looked the boy over, from head to toe and decided to take him in. He wasn’t hard to convince, as he rushed into the door, and somehow found the way straight to the bedroom.

Billy found himself in a giant bedroom, the largest bed he had ever seen. He jumped on the bed, awaiting his mysterious ‘date’.

When the tall sexy lady came into the room, she quickly dropped the dress she had been wearing. Standing there in her bra and panties, she took control of the room and of Billy, who may have been cocky when he entered her room, but by now he was beginning to show his inexperience.

“Get on the bed, lock your wrists into the shackles while I bind your feet” she said. For some reason, Billy did what she said, never questioning her even once. This night was far from the one he had planned but what the hell?

Once Billy was bound to the bed, the lady made her move, straddling the young man and taking a long hard bite from his neck. He tried to get away, but guided by hormones, he somehow wanted to finish this.

“Hey, too rough, I am not into rough!” he said, almost whimpering.

“Shut up weakling, you aren’t going anywhere!” she said.

“Who are you? You aren’t Myra, you can’t be!” he said.

Just then, she began to shake. As if she was convulsing, her entire body began to quiver, and moments her entire appearance began to change. Her body, which appeared to be that of a forty something woman began to tighten and she took the look of a much younger, more beautiful woman known to Billy as Myra. Her voice softened, and she looked surprised to find Billy under her, bound by the hands and feet, unable to move.

“It happened again! I knew it! She took another one! Damn her, damn my crazy mother!” She said, obviously confused and angry. Billy looked up to discover that although he went nowhere, the woman on top of him changed into the woman he had met at the supermarket.

When Myra’s body began shaking again, Billy seen images of both Myra and her mother, and of other women, all beautiful and very sexy. Billy didn’t really care who ended up on him, since they were all beautiful, he would take any of them. He obviously wasn’t in this for a relationship, just for some sex, some experience; and he was certainly getting an experience.

As poor Myra’s body changed from one to another, the shaking finally stopped, only to reveal the latest person. This person was not the sexy but innocent Myra, it was definitely not her cougar mother, and it wasn’t even the ten or fifteen blondes and redheads who magically appeared in front of him.Gone was the shapely body, the taunt breasts, the perfect ass, replaced by a short, curly haired person wearing a tight shirt and short shorts. When he heard the person on top of him speak, he fought to be released, this time screaming for his life.

“Live it Baby!” the voice said. ” I am no longer sweatin’ to the oldies, I got me a young hottie!”

Billy began screaming, writhing, wriggling, doing anything to break free, but the shackles were just too tight. The worst part was that Billy recognized the voice. He had heard the voice on his grandmother’s television many times. The person who now straddled Billy was none other than

..

…….Richard Simmons.

Billy was now hurting and very very confused. First he had a sexy cougar seduce him, then she changed into a beautiful girl who he had always dreamed of, and then she changed into this…person. Unable to move, and stripped almost naked by the tall woman, he was unable to move.

“I am tired of sweatin’ to the oldies, now I want to sweat to a newbie!” said the incredibly popular  gay man who sat on top of the bound and now naked Billy Everett, the horny young man who thought he finally met the woman of his dreams. Unfortunately for Billy, this persona did not change to anyone else.

Moral of this story? you tell me~

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The Interview

In this week’s segment of ‘Who the Hell Are You?” we feature an up and coming blogger known as SnB. SnB’s blog started out as a mostly biographical site, but as of late, the blog began to feature works of fiction that …let’s just say, are not for the faint of heart. In an effort to better understand the blogger, we got SnB here in our studio, and he has agreed to provide some answers. Stay tuned…

Ted: First, let me introduce our guest. Ladies and gentlemen, meet SnB. SnB, I have to say, you are one handsome devil.

SnB: Thanks Ted, you aren’t so bad yourself, but if you are hitting on me, I am as straight as a prairie highway, so let’s don’t go there!

Ted: No worries, I am straight as well, but I just can’t help notice that we resemble each other.

SnB: Whatever, you only wish to be as handsome as I am.

Ted: Er…okay, back to the interview. Snb…do you mind if I call you Sights?

SinB: snb will do, keeps things simple, you know?

Ted: Okay snb. How about you tell the studio audience a little about yourself. When were you born, how did you grow up, a little background info?

SnB:  I am not much of a talker, I would much rather write, but since I am here in front of the camera, I will give it my best shot. I was born in a small office in a college, mostly out of my parent’s curiosity. Back then I was pretty fed up with city life and I longed for a simpler way of life, one where I could be free to write whenever I wanted to.

As a child I wrote about the simple things, a cup of tea in the woods, a grandparent I missed, bullies, etc.; but as I grew older, my true creativity was found, and the works you have read as of late began to grow in my mind.

Ted: What is the biggest challenge as a writer?

SnB: My biggest challenge is keeping things real. For example, in a few of my latest works, the basis for the stories is the truth.

Ted: Are you saying that you actually knew a Keisha?

SnB: I did meet a woman named Keisha, I cannot deny that one, but it went nowhere like the story, but the basis for the story did come from the truth.

Ted: Wow, so you are into S&M?

SnB: I didn’t say that, what I said was that I met a woman named Keisha who told me of her secret desires of being a submissive. The rest of the story unfolded in my mind. There was nothing other than a conversation with the woman.

Ted: Sure, I believe you (winking)

Ted: What about your latest story, The Chain? Is that one based on a true story? Is this somehow connected to your past?

SnB: The Chain is based on a true story, that’s why it is taking so long to write. The story is not mine however; I grew up in a loving family, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t see things, things that left an impression in my mind, a longing to tell the story so that people can see the truth.

Ted: Back to ‘The Chain’, you knew the characters?

SnB: I know ‘of’ the characters. The challenge in this piece is keeping the story far enough away from the truth to make it fiction, but keeping the story close to the truth to make it believable. Like I said, that’s why it is taking me a while to tell the story, I am waiting for things to fold out in real life, then I base my story on the circumstances. It’s not easy.

Ted: What is your goal in telling a story like this?

The goal of the story is to let people know that things aren’t always what they seem. The people that we respect are not always so respectful when doors are closed. Who can say whether our politicians, lawyers, principals, even law enforcement officers are not actually the Tom’s, Jim’s and Andrew’s that are in the story? Like the old song goes, ‘No One knows what goes on behind closed doors’.

Ted: Wow, I suppose that does make sense. How many more installments do you see in the story?

SnB: In staying close to reality, I would say that there are more than three more installments of the story, but the end may surprise a few people.

Ted: is that a hint to how the story will end?

SnB: no hints, I am waiting for the end as well.

Ted: The end of what?

SnB: haven’t you been listening? The end of “The Chain”.
Can we change the subject?

Ted: Okay. I noticed that you changed the entire look of your WordPress blog. Is there a reason for that?

SnB: Yes. Since my writing style has been steadily evolving, swinging from happy to sad to downright scary, I felt that the lovely backwoods background didn’t really fit into what I am trying to do here. I wanted the background and the theme to represent that change. As for the stone background, I wanted my readers to remember where I came from…a place known  as ‘The Rock’.

Ted: I gotta ask,  all through the interview something keeps bugging me about you, have we met before, you look very familiar.

SnB: Will you leave that alone? You look nothing like me. You wish you looked like me. I am done!

Ted: but…but..

worst job ever: grocery store

Back when I was sixteen I got my first job. I had wanted a bit of spending money and since my parents were as poor as church rats, I would have to find my own means to earn the money. My dad was good friends with a man named Bob Stevenson, who was the floor manager at The Food Center, the local grocery store, and he had a ‘talk’ with Bob, and the next day I had the job.

I was anxious to begin my ‘career’ of grocery boy, but I was surprised when I learned that grocery boy was actually a ‘prestigious’ position at the store, and that I was not going to be a grocery boy, not by a long shot. I was a ‘truck unloader’.

In the back of the store, far away from what the customers see, is where the store loading dock was. My job, along with a few kids like me who  had big dreams of one day making it out of the back and onto the main floor, was to unload the tractor trailers that carried the grocery items and fresh produce across the island and to the various food stores across the island. The work was hard, and we weren’t treated very well by store staff, and especially by the grocery boys.

On my first shift, the truck had arrived late at night with a load of potatoes. They called my home at around two in the morning. Still half dazed and asleep, I arrived at the store. I had never worked before, so working at two in the morning was quite the chore. When I got to the store, there were a whole slew of workers I had never seen at the store before, the night shift. Those guys were the ones that the store manager did not want hanging around the store in daylight. Tough guys, some older than me, who wanted the work to supplement their welfare checks, showed up to unload night shift trucks for a bit of ‘under the table’ cash.

Hilary, a guy who looked like he just escaped from the mental ward chose me. He said that I would be his ‘catcher’. My job was to stand at the end of the loading ramp, next to the back of the truck, while he dropped 50 lb bags of potatoes into my open arms. After an hour of this, I truly thought that my arms had gotten longer,  and my shoulders hurt like nobody’s business. I made it through the entire shift, but when I was finished, I was ready to die.

My next shift wasn’t any better. I was called in (half hour notice I might add) at four in the morning to assist ‘Dead Donny’ in the meat room. It seemed that every worker had a nickname, although mine was simply my last name, which the back room manager yelled every time he had any dirty work to do. Anyway, I had to work with Dead Donny in the meat room, which was actually a freezer room where the frozen food and meat were stored. Dead Donny apparently got his name from his pale white skin, more than likely due to the fact that he spent most of his time in the freezer room of the store, day and night, winter and summer. The guy was so white he glowed in the dark, at least that’s what the other guys at work used to say.

Working with Dead Donny wasn’t all that bad. He was actually one of the nicer full timers at the store. Donny had started working at the store when he was just 13 years old, and after twenty years at the job, he still wasn’t that old. I worked to help Donny unload the freezer truck, and even though the work was hard, working with him was so much easier because he didn’t look down on me for being a newbie. The worst part of this shift was the next morning at ten when I finished my shift and had to wait for Dad to pick me up and bring me home. Everyone in town sported shorts and tshirt, I wore a one piece snowmobile suit, the normal attire for working in the freezer room with Dead Donny.

On one occasion, I got called by the boss to clean up a milk spill. One of the senior workers accidentally lost an entire crate of evaporated milk on the floor, and I had to clean it. Using a mop and a bucket of dirty water, I worked to clean the milk, but everyone (except for the boss apparently) knows that when you add water to evaporated milk, it just makes more milk. Superintelligent me figured that I use a fresh mop from store stock to clean the spill. I went through four store stock mops, and dry mopped the milk. I was so proud that I made it a point to brag to the back room manager. He went insane. I paid dearly for my small lapse of genius, as the cost of the four mops came out of my measly salary of $2.85 per hour. So much for creativity I guess.

One day I had to work with Cranky Clark. Cranky was the store player who had spent far too much time hitting on female workers and even shoppers than he did doing his job. He had no patience for the newer workers and made their lives a living hell. Cranky grabbed me by the shoulders and ordered me to go and unload a truck that contained cleaning solutions. I remember one of the guys who helped us was named Casey. Casey was a nice guy and the brunt of most of Cranky’s jokes. When a large box of bleach was coming down the conveyor belt, Casey waited patiently for the box to come his way, but it got stuck, so Cranky took a broom handle and poked at the box until it was freed up, causing the box to twist and finally spill over all three of us waiting for the box. I was lucky enough to jump away before the box hit the edge of the truck, but Casey wasn’t that lucky. The box of bleach burst open and onto Casey, his eyes filled with bleach. An ambulance was quick to arrive, and Casey was rushed to the hospital. Clark blamed everything on me and Casey, and the manager eventually fired Casey for being careless. Clark walked away without any remorse.

One evening I showed up for work to hear the older workers brag about packing boxes. I figured they were talking about groceries, but in the end they were talking about something else entirely. One of the workers was a guy name Charlie, who bragged about being the best box packer in the store. He said that tonight he will be packing a box and the store will pay him for it.

Charlie left the loading dock around nine and went to the store front, where he met with a few ladies, he led them to the back of the store and shut the door. When I asked the others what he was up to, they simply replied “packing boxes”. I was even more confused, but I didn’t think he should have been bringing other people into the store at night, even if they were going to help him ‘pack boxes’.

I heard a loud scream and a ton of moaning coming from the little back room, and foolishly, I left my post and checked it out. When I got to the room, the door was closed with a do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. I turned the knob and the door opened, only to find Charlie making out with one of the girls while the other one waited on a chair, watching. I remember stupidly asking what he was doing, and his reply? “I am packing her box, what are you some kind of virgin?” he asked. I was. And I was embarrassed. The two girls giggled and went on with the box packing. I heard sex called a lot of things, but never packing boxes.

The store owner was a nice person, but his three sons were not nice. They bossed everyone around and treated us like garbage. They also stole from their father, to the point that late at night, pickup trucks would arrive and a few of the boys would help them load groceries into the trucks and drive away. I was too scared and too God fearin’ to get involved in this (Thank heavens!)

We used to wish that a different owner took over the store, then maybe those clowns would leave the store. Maybe we would get promoted to the prestigious title of ‘grocery packer’. That didn’t happen. A different manager did come along, but he promoted the boss’ clown sons, and laid us off. So much for career goals with the grocery store.

Whenever I shop at the store (it has a new owner now and a different name), I still see a few of the boys who used to unload trucks working at the store. One of them was promoted to assistant manager a few years back, and now he is the store manager. Jimmy was one of the nicest guys I worked with back when I was a kid, but talking to a few of the grocery boys, they call him the ‘Drill Sargent’ now. Funny how things change.

waltzing in heaven: A love story

I can still see the two of them, hands held tight, gliding around the dance floor. My grandparents used to love heading to the Senior’s club every Saturday night. Grap would always have a shot of rum before calling the cab. The rum helped ease the pain in his tired legs, and after the pain was gone, he and gram would spend the rest of the night dancing.

It was so romantic watching them dance. A couple who had been married over seventy years, they knew the steps perfectly. They did what we call the ‘Newfie Two Step’ here in Newfoundland, the rest of the world referred to the dance as the Box Step. Whatever it was called, they danced like pure silk, those partners in life, partners in dance, partners in love.

There were others on the dance floor on this night, but as they held each other so tightly, in their minds it was only them who glided across the well worn hardwood.

Dad recalls back when he was a teenager, and my grandparents first learned to dance. “They pulled all the old furniture out of the living room and stacked it tightly against the wall in the hallway. Gram put together a huge meal for all their friends, invited anyone in the community who played any kind of instrument, and made sure that the old wood stove was put out, as to not cook the guests!”

My dad went on to explain how when everyone arrived and had their meal of Jiggs Dinner, homemade pie and tea, a few of the guests got out their accordions and fiddles and commenced to play a few waltzes. A few of the guests were great dancers, and with patience and love, they taught the others how to do the dances. My dad added that from that moment on, every Saturday night, my grandmother had people over, and they danced from dusk til dawn. It was a way of breaking up a week of hard work on the farm and the daily challenges of raising eleven children.

Dad’s best memory of his parents is one of them dancing hand in hand, the look of love in their eyes, as they danced through over seventy years of wedded bliss.

They are both gone now, my grandfather in ’04, and Grandmother just this fall, but I know that somewhere they are dancing again, arm in arm, hand in hand, two hearts together once again