Written solely to take my mind off things a bit. Some of you know what things, and some of you don’t. Live with it! (grin)
The intent is feminine, and the feminine is very intent. Live with that, too. It’s all about feeling.
……………………………………………………………
At 8:10 am, on July 7, 2009 I found out this has been (is being) featured in Feminine Intent; as witnessed by the notice on my comments that says so!
So, she ...
.. folded up the scrap, into another paper dragon, and left it on the windowsill, to mark her passing. The intention had been to write out a phone number, maybe some cute little note to capture his imagination.
Ever since she first laid eyes on him, most of her thoughts, when they were coherent enough to be called thoughts, were centered upon finding ways to capture his imagination, his attention, his glances, his lips, the feel of his back against the palm of her hand …
There she went again, day dreaming, instead of getting on with the practicalities of wooing him beyond this strange fringe of friendship they tarried on. They were not buddies, for buddies do not smolder within each other’s glances, but, they were not lovers.
Before she had the cap off the pen, she spotted it, the show stopper, the deal breaker, a.k.a. the pair of devil red lacy underpants which peeped, rather timidly despite their coloring, from underneath his sofa.
“Hello.” she said to the panties. “What are you doing there? And, don’t try to pretend you’re mine, as I never did enjoy that pattern of lace on you.”
The panties gave no reply. It was not needed, for they had already spoken volumes.
“I can’t say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she told them, “which makes me sad in a way; but, I’m sure you’ll understand.” She paused, as if waiting for an answer. In truth, it was really the swirling in her brain to cease and desist; that is what she paused for, hoping reality would catch up with her again, and take her off this crazy thing.
“Jane! Stop this crazy thing! Jane!” George Jetson screamed into her mind. Whenever she thought of his predicament, on most days, she felt very sorry for the man. Not so today, as she felt as almost beside herself as she felt beside him.
“See here, now, panties!” she chided. “This is the deal, you see: he was mine before you came along. At least, I wanted him to be mine and I thought he might be interested in that idea, as well, and we could be each others. Now, however, unless he swoops into the room and announces his fetish for red lace underthings upon his own nether regions, I have no choice but to presume that some female person left you in her wake.”
The panties thought she presumed too much, and should have made an assumption, instead; but, they kept their own counsel and let her go on as she would. They’d been in this situation before, and found it best for all if they lay quietly and let the woman have her tirade.
A tirade was exactly what the woman did have, for it was not ugly enough to be a conniption, nor was it full of fists and curses enough to be considered a tantrum. It was a tirade, full and strong, though; complete with a flying vase and a c0-mingled prayer for help/oath to tear out his teeth. The panties were impressed, both by the strength and the short duration of the episode.
The man, coming back from the bathroom, looked bewildered. He did not see the panties, which left them feeling a little miffed as they were quite sure they had been selected specifically to catch his eye. He did not even see the vase, or rather the pieces of what used to be the vase, where it lay about the carpet. All he saw was the woman, and what he saw filled him with so many different emotions at once that he was unable to look away, much less protect himself from the onslaught which threatened, potentially, to rain down upon him, body and soul.
“Valkyrie!” thought he. Here was raging beauty, danger, wrapped up in this dainty being that he wanted, somehow, to protect, even now. Here was rain and fire, hot and cold, love and hate. He was astounded.
She had considered killing him. A quick karate chop right in the middle of his forehead, which would split brain and skull in two, she imagined, would do the trick nicely. Though, she had also considered throwing him down to the floor and proving that she could do it better, whatever it had actually been and however it was best done. It was only a few seconds, but, she had considered those and much else.
Then she gathered up her dignity, which was lightly shredded and faintly reminiscent of goth wear now, and wrapped it around her emotions, like the cloak it was. Then, she remembered, how she had once told him the story, back when all they did was have coffee together, of how she had learned origami in art class in Elementary school; and, how, all the way until she graduated high school, she always left something with each goodbye, a little dragon, to be remembered. It didn’t matter if it was for a funeral of a beloved pet, or her grandmother moving far away, or to say goodbye to the school when she was finally done with it. Whatever the occasion, whomever the love was for, everyone received a dragon,equally.
So, …
(oh, and the panties WERE his weren’t they!)
should be
will be
discovered
again you take me out of or rather into another world
where contempt
brings content
it flows Arletta
as always
with out swearing
and screaming
and shouting abuse
you let out the agnst
As always much abundance to you