Sorry, monkies. I'm just not writing fan fiction lately. Actually, I'm not writing any fiction, dammit. The only thing I've been able to manage is snarky comments on Gawker and tweets. Read this while I wait for inspiration.
Dreaming of Bill
I'm sitting on the edge of a bed pulling on the cowboy boots that I used to wear with everything back in the early 80's. I realized that my whole outfit's kinda cute--short white prairie skirt, wide red patent leather belt, brown tube top and a lime green grandpa cardigan--and I think, in my dream, "That's so 2008, Urban Outfitters, trailer trash chic and I used to dress like that when I was an undergrad at Cal State Long Beach in 1982".
I look back, and Bill's laying on the bed, naked, watching me get dressed. He is solidly into middle age, just starting to get thick around the waist but still fit and lushly muscular. He'd seemed embarrassed about how hairy his body was until I told him that I liked it and that it reminded me that I was making love to a man and not a boy. I'd also made him take off the ridiculous toupee and was surprised to see that he wasn't bald, but that his hair grew in short wisps on the top of his head. I didn't tell him that he looked better without it. The only thing about his body he seemed proud of was his dick.
And rightly so.
He smiled at me and I rolled my eyes.
"What?" he laughed.
"I told, you man. We're only doing this once," I said.
"I heard you the first time."
"Don't be calling me all the time, trippin' and shit."
"And don't tell Leonard. We kind of have a thing."
"Just, you know."
"I'm going to leave my wife," he said.
"Women leave you, honey," I said.