Sunday, October 26, 2003

My friend sent me the harlequins I wrote awhile back (which was based on the two, most masculine, men we know in our grade):


T was sprawled on the lavender scented couch, in a drunken daze.

"Oh my jeepers," cried T as he wrapped the cherry afghan around his muscular tr*ck body. "I can't believe this is happening. Gawd, this is a nightmare."

Just that moment, there was a knock at the door.

"It's me, T. Open up." It was A.

"I'm sorry, T isn't here at the moment. Please leave." yelled T, as he tried to conceal his voice using Listerine pocket packs and gauze.

"Baby. Open up. Or I'm gonna have to get my key out or break the door open in a moment of passion." A boomed back, through the door. T put on his Gary Coleman-inspired robe (aka. extra small), and slouched to the door.

"Is that you?" asked A.

"Yes. I'm here. And I'm waiting for an apology. I need to know I mean something to you. I need to know you're ... sincere because I'm real upset right now. I've been goin' saloon hopping."

"Okay, T. You're getting upset over nothing. Yes, I met Ulas. Met him, didn't like him, end of story."

"But you said he was irresistable! You did! I heard you!"

"No," A calmly pointed out. "I said he was irreversible. Being a doctor, I told him, 'Your stupidity is irreversible.'"

T, choked up with guilt, finally opened the door, but with the little hangy chain still intact. Their eyes met. One look at T's sultry, sweaty body from imitating the Buns of Steel exercise video, did it for A. He felt an urge he hadn't felt since reading the Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller. That ... pull of desire. Not to kill. No, not this time. But to ... fill.

Fulfil that is. And he got it. Awashed with desire, the chain was ripped from its hinges. A stared deeply into T's dark, deer-in-the-headlights, eyes as he ...


*sigh* That was a great time in my life.

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