The Fantasy Preamble

Now that's forming a perfect union!

From time to time  - actually most of the time - I engage in fantasies about hot young women to help satisfy urges that are as likely to be satisfied in reality as Bernie Sanders is to iron one of his shirts. 

In good conscience, though, I cannot fantasize about a woman who would naturally find me as appealing as her dad's poker partner unless I first create a back story explaining why she now finds me as irresistible as a hot fudge sundae.

Hence, the Fantasy Preamble:

Her name is Andi.  She is 32 years old and blond with eyes so blue you could practically swim in them. She is pursuing a graduate degree while working as a waitress at a nearby diner where I've impressed her with my charm, style, and tipping at 80%.

"Perry, I get off at 10:00. Will I see you tonight?"

"Andi, this can't go on!  You should be with a younger man.”

“Younger men bore me.  You know that I’ve pre-subscribed to “AARP Magazine” for years now so I can get off on all the pictures of the hot senior guys!  Perry, your paucity of hair, crumpled face, and circles under your eyes just turn me on!

"Well, Andi, when you got it, you got it."

Fade out and into my fantasy.  

That's the Fantasy Preamble, which serves to make the unpalatable palatable. Without it the closest I am likely to come to pillow talk with Andi is her asking me if I like the pajamas she bought her dad for Father’s Day.

Her name is Susan.  She is 37 years old, red-headed and passionate, and an accountant that I met when she did my taxes.

"Perry, ever since I first prepared your 1040 I knew there was something special about you."

"Was it the income under the poverty line?"

"Perry, I know you're worried about the age difference, but I don't care!  

"But Susan, when you're 40, I'll be 70. 

"And when I’m 70 you’ll be 100, but you’ll still have that ineffable quality!"

"Well, I guess ineffability does have its virtues.”

Fade out and into my fantasy.  

Her name is Helen. She is 38 years old and a talented artist about whose work I have become passionate since I saw her on Facebook in a bikini. She has begged me to allow her to paint my portrait.

 “Almost done, Perry!  You are such a marvelous subject!”

“Thank you, Helen.  You know this isn’t the first time I’ve been painted.”

“Oh, no?”

“I got totally covered at paintball on my son’s ninth birthday.”

“Take a look, Perry!”

“Oh my god, Helen, this is terrible! I’m hairless, decayed, desiccated!!!”

 “I call it ‘A Study in Wrinkles.’”

“Who’d want to have sex with someone like that?”

“I can’t imagine.” 

Fade Out.  Fade Way Out.

Sometimes - I’m afraid - even the best of fantasy preambles doesn’t always quite get the job done. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dolphins Swimming Before My Eyes

"That's pretty!" said Farbman, who'd just stopped by my shop. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's for my biggest and best customer. He's coming by in a minute."

"But you're not an artist, you make contact lenses."

"Yes, as I said, it's for my .... here he is!  Hi, Goliath!"

I thought Farbman was going to pass out.

"Ho, Mr. Block!  Are my new contacts ready?"

"Sure are. Hope you have better luck with these."

Goliath popped in the two new contact lenses, blinked, and roared!

"No good!  I still see dolphins, dolphins swimming before my eyes!"

"Pity.  As I told you, Goliath, you've got hallucinations, has nothing to do with the contacts. But, want me to try again?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, I'll need another $8,000 to start." 

"Like I said," I whispered to Farbman, "he's my biggest and best customer!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, I'm not really an optometrist. It's just that this business opportunity came my way and even with only one client, it's a fortune!  Or at least it is in my entry for this week in the Friday Fictioneers Extravaganza based on the picture prompt above.

Is it art or is it contact lenses? What's Flipper got to do with it?  Will I ever again bring in a story at 100 words or less? These and many other questions will not be answered when you check out the work of the other Fictioneers for the week by clicking right here.

"Fee Fi Fo Fum, Goliath's caught on to the Jewish one!?"  Ulp!  Being pounded into guacamole dip is not on my "to do" list for today.  See you next week! 

The Wheels on the Bus Go "Carp, Carp, Carp"

Who could  have ever expected what happened when the town of Paddington-on-Rye decided to commission a new crosstown bus?

On a whim, somebody had decided to paint the new bus with bright colors and add a face with eyes, nose, and mouth to the driver's end.  And when the bus came alive and began talking, the townsfolk knew they had a tourist boon like no other!

True enough, people came from hither and yon to see, hear, and ride the bus, and the town's coffers swiftly filled.  There was but one problem.

The bus had a personality like yesterday's underwear. 

"Driver, slow down, you're gonna kill us!"

"It's too cold, I don't want anyone climbing on me today!"

"Well, that's a goofy-looking crop of tourists, especially the buck-toothed lady in the print dress!"

It was determined it would take thousands of  dollars of therapy to cure the problem.

Either that or paint a smile on the front end.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're probably carping about it already, but I drove this story into the station at 158 words, well over the prescribed maximum of  100.  But you don't meet a talking bus every day, especially one as downbeat and jaded as this --- and that's a bus after my own heart!

I'm sure you'll be talking about the various other takes on today's picture prompt by the many other Friday Fictioneers if you park yourself right here at the official Paddington-on-Rye Talking Bus Stop.  No charge for unlimited parking.

The Wheels on the Bus Go "Outta Here!"

The Break Up

I knew it was time. 

It had to end. I had to face it, and I had to act.

I called Carrie Bailey, the hot 32 year old woman I'd now known for two years,  and asked her to meet me in that favorite corner cafe we both loved so much.

"Perry, lunch was such a nice surprise," said Carrie.  "Is there something on your mind?"

"Dearest Carrie," I began nervously, 'I need to tell you something."

"Yes, Perry?" Carrie asked sympathetically.

"For quite some time now, I've ... umm, err ...  been having fantasies in which you and me have sex.  Wild passionate uninhibited sex. "

"Gosh, Perry," Carrie fumbled,  a bit embarrassed, "I'm ... I'm kind of flattered, I guess. But you don't have to tell me this."  

"Yes, I do, Carrie," I said.  "Because the thing is ....  I'm breaking up with your fantasy!" 

"I ... I  beg your pardon?" 

"I'm breaking up with your fantasy.  Thinking about sex with you just doesn't do it for me anymore."

"What?  Why?" 

"Well, frankly you're starting to look a little older to me.  I'm seeing wrinkles, you're not as fresh faced as you used to be, and honestly Carrie, you could afford to drop a few pounds."

"Wait a minute! Are you trying to tell me that ..."

"That's right:  It's not me, it's you."  

"But why don't you have me doing something new to you? I could give you one hell of a fantasy ...." 

"It's no use, you've done that!  You and me have done just about anything and everything, and still there's nothing happening down below!"

"I can't believe it!  You  can't mean it!"

"Carrie, I'm sorry but I have to break up with your fantasy."

"Well, I'm not accepting this fantasy breakup!  You call me here and tell me you're not going to fantasize sex with me anymore and I'm supposed to take it?!!  No way, mister!!!" 

"But, Carrie, be reasonable ..." 

"Are you fantasizing about someone else?  Who the hell is she, the bitch!  Are you thinking about boffing her right now?!!"

"That doesn't matter, Carrie, the thing is ...."

"How could you, you two-timing bastard?! Your fantasy breakup has ruined my life!!!"

For days after, Carrie was furious and wouldn't speak to me.  Then one day she showed up at my doorstep.

"Perry, there's only one answer," she said. "We need to have actual sex."

And we did.  And it was wonderful!

The only thing is, this last part didn't happen; it's my new Carrie Bailey fantasy.  And it works great!

Breaking up is hard to do. 

And fortunately for me and Fantasy Carrie Bailey, we didn't have to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fare thee well, Fantasy Carrie ...

If you liked this post, you might also like Like Sex for Chocolate, Pulling a Willard, and Directress of My Dreams.

If you hated this post, I hope your fantasy girlfriend dumps you and runs off with your fantasy best friend, and I hope he's me!
  

708 Fulton

 708 Fulton.  Strange, that name.

Having received an urgent call from an oddly familiar voice to meet there, Douglas entered.  It turned out to be a small but comfortable coffee shop boasting a stained glass image of the sun rising behind a cup of hot coffee, seemingly symbolic of one of the few things in life George truly enjoyed.

As he sipped, George felt 708 Fulton to be a place of respite from his inadequacies, failed dreams, and the entire cold godless universe.    

"Never heard of this place before," he said to a passing barista. 

"Little wonder, my friend. 708 Fulton is heaven, dude."

"I'm in heaven?"

"Different for every person."

And the universe was no longer cold for one Douglas Fulton Smith.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo prompt above and story beneath, the above  is my contribution to this week's installment of the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers' and Brother Love's Travelin' Salvation Show. (Note: Other than that one song, I pretty much hate Neil Diamond.)

I came in at 123 words this week, not too shabby but still off the mark. We'll see what the new year brings.

Happy New Year, Fictioneers!