A scenario manifests. A scenario disassembles. I participate intensively for the duration.
Reno had the leading man good looks. I had the character actors mojo and a huge 1966 Pontiac Bonneville. Attending a commuter college made me an asset for lifts after late night theater rehearsals. One thing you learn is that some folks are just born to be romantic leading men and leading ladies. Others are relegated to supporting roles on stage. Still others work in the wings. So it is in the world stage too.
No one came out unscathed from a dalliance with Cheryl. She was a hickey giving, scratch manufacturing machine during her tempestuous fucking embrace. Aside from having the goal of sucking or fucking every man in the editing house. She also wanted to be had in every editing suite, office, and waiting area corridor couch in the place. She was working her way up to the owner and I was apparently the next in line.
I was editing a television commercial for a wine import company. Minutes before the owner of said “Import Export Company” was to arrive in Edit Suite One two men in expensive suits, with obvious weapon induced bulges under their suit jackets gave the room the once over twice before boss-man was allowed to amble in.
I first met Cheryl when she worked for an Advertising Agency. She was a young PA, I was a younger Assistant Editor, so that made her a client. We would brush into each other at screenings, industry award shows, occasionally in an editing suite during the post production of television commercials. There was no not noticing her. She was a tall woman. Very long legs obscured by the knee length skirt of her power business suit. Usually orange, coral, or sometimes full tilt red. Being a suit, that meant a blouse and jacket were part of the regalia. But even that never camouflaged the imposing and bountiful breasts she was packing under sturdy shoulders that needed no shoulder pads to enhance. A few upper blouse buttons left undone teased the serious cleavage she wanted to tease. Probably not to tease me, but a perk of doing a project with her agency.
A Christmas Jennie
It was Christmas night. I had just driven back from a gathering with my family through a building snowstorm. Glad to be inside and warm, even if the rest of the holiday would be spent alone in my apartment. It was a nice place in a high rise. Downtown Chicago with a western exposure. Tonight, with the storm in play the city lights had given way to a white gossamer shimmer through the floor to ceiling wall of windows. I enjoyed the warmth and the restful feeling of having dispatched commitments while dodging the glowering phantom of familial past grievances this holiday.
He was getting dressed to escort Coco to her company Christmas party. It was the first with her new company. Considering they “got together” at their company Christmas party a few years prior, the occasion was both nostalgic and promising. When he heard the familiar refrain of a classic stop motion holiday cartoon on the television, “Oleo lady ol lady I oh,” he stopped and watched. Maybe those were not the exact words, but that is what he heard as a child and that is what they stayed into adulthood.
Ginger Chunks was ready for this holiday party. Her long red hair was silky and immaculately placed in such a way as to perfectly frame the vast expanses of cleavage. Highlighting boob where she had lovingly applied her foundation make-up well beyond what should be considered proper exposure for a company party. That vast area of alabaster curvy white flesh, hugged by astounding red hair, only interrupted by equally shocking red lips and green cat eyes. She was abundance personified and displayed for effect. In January she would be “Sadie Sadie, old married lady”. This night would be the final act in her long holiday tradition of being the effervescent and wild Ginger Chunks. “Look out men, cause I’m coming to get ya.” she cooed softly to herself. Her red lips spread lasciviously at the thought. She had her list and she was checking it twice. All these men would be naughty on this winter’s night.
When Journals End
Memory is indeed a funny thing. As I read the journal, I noticed that it was the narrative I tell myself when I reminisce about those days. It was weird. I did get really spooked after that Halloween night. My life did take a different direction after I left the warehouse job.
Oh my God. Everything was so warm and wet and wonderful down there. I never felt so delicious. It was like a warm lapping surf writhing its way up my spine and all over my body. Branching out in squivers, quivers and trembling nerve ends. I looked down and there was Donna’s face buried between my upraised knees. But what was she doing down there moving her head side to side like that. I just know I did not want her to stop. Above Donna’s upraised rump was Robin. A fierce smirk on her face as she seemingly pumped into Donna. But with what? Her small flat chest was glowing with red splotches from her exertions. She had one hand on each of Donna’s butt cheeks and spread them roughly on each forward thrust. Why she was mounting Donna just as I had mounted Rene last night.
Rene and I spent a great holiday weekend together. I could tell she was burned out from university. I hope after this weekend she is not burned out from me. We were at each other like the two healthy nineteen-year-old animals we are. For a change Rene was as hungry as I. I liked it. That pursued damsel giving in to her boyfriend’s base desires can get old.