READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
August 1, 2018
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HERE IS ONE OF MINE. A CRACKBRAINED LOVE STORY
THAT I CAUTION YOU TO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
YOU MAY NEVER AGAIN WANT TO EAT FRIED CHICKEN.
UNCONDITIONALLY FROM MY BOOK BLUE VEGAS
The art on the wall was Monet. Rather, works which had been collected by
Monet. Seventeenth century Flemish armchairs with original tapestry flanked a
square wrought iron table from depression era Louisiana. The mantelpiece came
from the English manor house where Edward VIII stole away for forbidden
weekends with Wallis Simpson. Facing the fireplace, a red velvet settee from the
court of Louis XIV. Even the most unobtrusive ashtray was precisely positioned
in this room where eclecticism was matched by warmth and charm.
Amanda was an attractive woman. Quite beautiful actually. Her auburn
hair was long with a slight natural curl. She admitted to 35 but had passed 40, a
claim few would doubt as a daily regimen of skin care and exercise kept vibrant
the weapons nature had given her. Amanda was in love. True and unconditional
love. She had decorated this room herself. Inspired by her love which was to be
forever, she tastefully fused the schematic clutter of mismatched antiques with
the resplendent freshness of newly cut stems which were changed each morning.
From the most petite Lalique bud vase to the centerpiece Japanese porcelain
bowl, an energizing sweetness permeated the room. This day it was a delicate
grouping of calla lilies and tulips the color of Roma tomatoes. Amanda stood by
the window contemplating the water splashing from a mosaic fountain, then
turned as she heard someone enter the room.
A tall slender woman walked toward her. Her name was Jennifer. In her
mid 20s. She took off her coat to reveal
jeans and a loose fitting vest. Her face
was fresh and vibrant, framed by shoulder length vanilla hair which reacted to
even her slightest movement.
Without a word, Jennifer raked back Amanda’s hair and ran her tongue
slowly up the side of her neck. Nibbling as she nestled behind her ear. Amanda’s
head rocked backward as she weakened with a desire evidenced by whimpers
which could be felt if not heard. Her eyes still closed, she slid her hands beneath
her lover’s vest which soon fell to the carpet. Jennifer unbuttoned Amanda’s
blouse and leaned forward, brushing their breasts together. In a moment they
lay naked on centuries old red velvet, fingers locked together as they kissed.
Jennifer’s tongue slowly circled Amanda’s breasts. Gently biting them. Amanda
tugged vanilla hair with both fists as she felt her nipple stiffen inside her lover’s
Jennifer moaned as Amanda’s fingers explored her soft inner crevices,
then quickly pulled away. “Careful baby. Your nails are sharp.” Their flesh
again pressed together. Moans of pleasure echoed each caress then, “OW!” This
time Jennifer screamed it, jerking her head in horror to see a chicken pecking at
the inner curve of her ass.
She threw herself off of Amanda and onto the floor, feathers flying as the
chicken squawked bloody murder as it shot across the room and crashed into a
sculpture of Shen Yang marble. Jennifer dove for cover behind a chair as a dozen
more chickens zigzagged into the room. Naked and panic-stricken, she peeked
over the chair and saw an old man dressed in a bathrobe with a six gun on his
hip. The man was very old. Almost hollow. Wore a ten gallon hat and fuzzy
slippers. He picked up the dazed bird and shuffled slowly toward the settee and
sat beside Amanda.
“Sorry,” the old man muttered. “I brought Bluebell in to watch Matlock and
guess I forgot to shut the dang door.”
Jennifer scrambled for her clothes and dressed quickly, then lost her
balance and fell on her ass as squawking poultry pecked at her bare feet. Looked
up in disbelief at the surreal portrait of her naked lover sitting on priceless red
velvet beside a decaying cowboy in fuzzy slippers holding a chicken. She didn’t
know whether to scream or scram. She scrammed.
Most bored wives of privilege filled the void by having suitable sex with the
golf pro or vile sex with the gardener. Amanda opted to spend her husband’s
money on the anonymous passion of high end lesbian hookers. But it hadn’t
always been that way.
Stationed near Las Vegas during World War II, her husband stuck around
after his discharge. Worked as a craps dealer in the sawdust joints on Fremont
Street. Kept his vices in check and at the end of each week had a few dollars to
put in the bank. Later when the corporations muscled their way onto the Strip, a
friend convinced him to take his money out of the bank and buy some casino
stock. It proved a good investment and he bought some more. Years later he
cashed out millions.
It was around that time he met Amanda. A damsel in distress who he helped
escape a serious jam she had gotten into with a low life who preyed on young girls
fresh off the bus. Amanda was grateful to have been given a second chance at life,
anxious to repay the old man’s kindness the only way she knew how. But he
would not take advantage of her vulnerability, saying only that he was happy to
have been able to help. They developed a friendship which over time led to
courtship. He supported her interests and treated her with a respect she had
never known dating younger men. He was 71 and she was 24 and they shared a
love which would be forever.
As the years passed and age started to rob him of his marbles, Amanda saw
to all his needs. Indulged his eccentricities, of which keeping chickens in the
house was not even close to being the most bizarre. She had sex with women
because she could never be unfaithful with another man as long as he was alive.
And probably not even after that. She loved him that much.
Amanda shooed poultry off seventeenth century Flemish armchairs, then
pushed back the old man’s ten gallon hat and kissed him tenderly on the
forehead. “You and Bluebell go watch your show. I’ll make us some popcorn and
be right in.”
Amanda helped the frail old cowboy to his feet and made sure Bluebell was
secure in his arm. Then steadied him as he shuffled out of the room, the rest of
the chickens following dutifully in a row.
This beautiful naked woman whose long auburn hair had a slight natural
curl. This woman of desire who kept sexually vibrant the weapons nature had
given her. This woman who could have had anyone went into the kitchen to make
popcorn for a crackbrained old man and his pet chicken. Yes, she loved him that
much. A love which would be forever.