An Unclean Woman in the Hand…

still waters need to be stirred…at least twice a day

So, as summer progressed, not quite a year ago. A following and routine had transpired my dull and mundane job of reviewing bed breakfast items for a poorly run newspaper…
My once un-chaotic and patented life became transfixed on the HOMOPHOBIC lesbian undercover as my real life boss.
What was a gal to do? After all and pay attention to the details, this is how I saw things without rose-colored glasses on:
-Book about to be published, no real genre or plot for next middle of the road offering from my unpolished mind.
-Constant disdain for those who turn the worlds of others into their playground with their vain attempts of being ‘cool’.
-Never a follower, I had always stayed to the thicket and managed to veer off the road when it came to life.
-Un-politically correct in a liberal politically correct sort of way, forty years of trying to make Bless the Freaks a common household term and disavowing those with silver Ben n Jerry Ice Cream Scoops up their mindless souls had led my intentions and conflictions.

aint’ much of a girlfriend…never seem to get along.

Yup, I had been ready for the plight of the flight of the anti-hero and non avenger Ambien/Annie Grace.
Hard as it was…it really was not all that difficult to set the ball of bias formed into a twenty-two year old stout frame, rolling. The ‘edgy writer’ caught the fray of the apron string Ambien/Annie could not let go. And, well, as the saying goes, I sat back and enjoyed the ride.
The sex? Well, it was no surprize the young lass had turned other admirer’s to stone. She had no rhythm and certainly, her romantic side seemed like a bad nursery rhyme.
First time, the boss’s desk at work. Had there been any concern for ‘getting caught in the act’? Nope, I was with the boss.
Obstacle? Just one and I suffered with that particular ’pre pubescent pain’ for five months…Our young and fearless leader had only known one form of sexual position…masturbating herself into a frenzy.
One sided fuckin’ is really and quite naturally for the birds. But for the sake of the storyline I endured a lasting and constant lump in the middle of the throat. Akin to wanting to throw up but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
The first session with the dog whisperer Ambien/Annie Grace and her companion Beckett Couvillion the third-overbred rich dog, just about knocked the wind out of my salient sails.
“Can I do this…I wondered to myself…this will be nothing but pure taunting sexual torture and not the fun kind, mind you.”
However, after the hour-long session on the desk slowly faded into my not lover’s response of ‘I’ll try better next time.’
She stigmatized me with her family history of bigotry, bias, badly behaved state professors and unnatural affection toward family members.
On second thought, I think I can hang on for a bit longer and so I did. With a bad taste in my mouth and the scent of an unclean woman on my hands, I awaited my next assignment.