Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #15

Happy Hump Day! If it's Wednesday, it must be time for another Wednesday Brief, right? Weekly doses of flash fiction brought to you by the Wednesday Briefers!  This week's promps were: "Anything you want, you got it..." or use: ferry, head, position, or "May I ask what you think..." or use an animal of some kind of use an accident or "When he/she said... I thought I would..."

In last week's episode of Stan and Ollie, as you may recall, the boys had a romantic interlude in the men's room while waiting for the bereaved fiance to show up. Today the story continues. Don't forget to see what the other Wednesday Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #15

We stroll out of the men’s room together, trying to look nonchalant, not like we’ve been up to anything that the locals might consider immoral, if not downright illegal. At least I am. When I glance over at my better half, he’s licking his lips, looking like the cat that drank the canary, and wearing a most pleased grin that only serves to draw heat to my cheeks. Despite the blush, I’m beyond happy and I’m not complaining. Far from it.

Since we have a little time to kill before the arrival of the distraught fiancé, I decide that a call to my sister is probably in order. I’m sure that things are fine with her and the diner, but it doesn’t hurt to check. Besides, she’s probably worried about Ollie and me and might just want some idea of when we expect to return. I know she’ll help out as long as I need her to; she’d do anything for us. She thinks Ollie is the best thing that ever happened to me and she’s not shy about reminding me of the fact, like I even need to be reminded of that. Or of the fact that she’s responsible for bringing us together, which I also know and am grateful for.

“Good idea,” he approves as I pull out my phone and we take up a position on a bench situated in the shelter of a large sweet gum tree. From here we can handily observe the bridge and keep an eye out for Egbert.

Gwin answers on the second ring. “Hello, dearest brother of mine! How are my guys doing?”

“We’re fine,” I assure her, squeezing Ollie’s hand that rests companionably upon my leg. “Sorry I haven’t called sooner.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.” She blows off my apology.  I can hear the background clatter of dishes and silverware, the low murmur of voices. I presume she’s in the dining room, probably getting ready for the dinner rush, so I shouldn’t keep her too long. “How’s the case going?”

“It’s going.” I’m not being deliberately mysterious, but I also don’t want to say anything, especially not when we’re out in the open like this. One can never be sure who’s lurking, especially since I know that nosy reporter’s around here somewhere.

“But not as well as you’d like?” She attempts to fill in the blanks of what I’m not saying. Pretty astute, my sister is.

“We could use a break,” I admit, although I’m not completely sure if it’s the case I’m talking about or the presence of that damned cat. Or both. “How’s the diner?”

“Super peachy keen!” I roll my eyes at her exuberance. “Lorenzo’s handling the kitchen just fine. And, before you ask, he’s keeping it immaculate too.”

Good. I’d hate to have to kill him for making a mess of my kitchen.

“You ever think about hiring someone on a permanent basis?”

Now that’s a loaded question. My biggest fear is having anyone find out about Ollie, which is why I’ve never hired any employees for the diner. It’s just Ollie and me and we’re doing fine. On the other hand, more time alone together would not go amiss. I don’t want to work my alien to death either. Not that he’d ever complain, ‘cause he wouldn’t.

Of course I know where she’s going with her inquiry too. And she heads there quickly, not exactly being shy or retiring.

“May I ask what you think of the idea of hiring Lorenzo? Maybe on a part-time basis, to start with? I think it would do the both of you good, to be honest.  And I can wait tables, you know that.  That would give you and Ollie more time together.” She’s echoing my thoughts, of course. “Just think about it, if you would. I don’t need an answer until you’re ready to give one.”

“I will, Gwin,” I promise.

“Can I talk to Ollie?”

“Of course.” I hand my sweet baby the phone.  He leans closer to me, claiming my lips in a brief, heated kiss, one that leaves me short of breath. His eyes flash for just a moment, and then he’s conversing with my sister and I’m simply focusing on breathing.

Is he trying to influence me to at least consider my sister’s proposition? He’ll find I’m not so easily persuaded. I can be damn stubborn myself, especially when it’s his safety that is under consideration. There are people that would pay a lot to learn Ollie’s location. People that certainly don’t have his best interests at heart, far from it. And other people that would sell him out in a heartbeat, if they only knew the truth. I’m determined that these groups never converge and compare notes. Not while I have anything to say about it, or the breath to fight them with.

Something hits me on the top of my head before falling into my lap. I pick it up, cradling it my palm, studying it like I’ve never seen it before, although I have. It’s just a sweet gum, that’s all. Not surprising since we’re sitting under the tree.  I idly roll the prickly little thing around in my hand. Many of its brethren have already hit the ground. After a minute, I toss this one after them, wiping a little sticky residue from my flesh.

Wait, what’s that? I mean, who’s that?

I gently nudge Ollie’s knee with mine. He understands and ends his conversation, handing my phone back to me. A familiar figure stands upon the bridge over the pond, a dark tulip in his hand. I glance cautiously about as we direct our steps toward him, but there is no sign of the bitchy reporter, thank goodness.

We stand at a respectful distance while he stares forlornly into the water before gently tossing the flower. As he turns to leave, we approach him.

“Mr. Montauk?”

He looks at us in surprise.

“A moment of your time, please?”

to be continued

Now don't forget to visit the rest of the Briefers!

Victoria Adams      m/f

Chris T. Kat   m/m

Lily Sawyer      m/m 

MA Church    m/m

Nephylim     m/m

Cia Nordwell     m/m

Tali Spencer     m/m

 MC Houle     m/m

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #14

Happy Wednesday, everybody! Hope your week is going well! The flash fiction fun continues. This week's prompt was:  "As times goes by..." or use a winter theme or use: snow, peeved, water or "When did you tell me..." or use a rainbow, or a rainbow and a unicorn, or use: handcuffs, silver, basket.

Last week, as you'll recall, some startling information came to light. See what the boys are up to this week, as Stan and Ollie continues. And don't forget to visit the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #14

Just when you go and think you have something figured out, life tosses you a lemon, except it’s not, it’s a hand grenade and it explodes right in your face. Well hell, there goes that idea.

But wait…

“How do you know?” I’m not being difficult, just thorough.

She obviously can’t tell the difference as she flashes me a dirty look and tosses her ginger locks in her typical alien diva style.

“Because I found her file, Mr. Suspicious Asshole, and there is nothing there about a pregnancy, not even a test for one.”

“You think somebody just drew the wrong conclusion?” Ollie offers me an apologetic glance. Of course I accept it, he’s done nothing wrong.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” My brain starts spinning with possibilities. “What if that’s what little miss… what’s her name? Oh yeah… What if that’s what little Miss Emmy wants people to believe?”

“What do you mean, Stan?”

“Well, I bet she didn’t expect anyone to be digging in her file, right? So, the truth of the matter lies between her and her doctor, now doesn’t it? Doctor patient privilege they call it.”

“Yes, but to what purpose?” Then Ollie snaps his fingers, and a knowing look passes between us.

“Yeah, just what I was thinking. How do you lasso the man who has everything you could possibly ever want or desire and more money than brains? Get him to award you one of those MRS degrees that feel like a fucking noose around your neck and cut off your circulation. What’s the fastest road to the land of I Do?  Especially for an old-fashioned Southern gentleman who’s from a different generation? A shotgun wedding.”

Looks like that little gal is still on the suspect list. Great. That’s not helping anything. At this rate, as time goes by we might just well have half the town of Cortez on that list.

Plus, judging by the smirk the runs the length of her majesty’s face, we’re not getting any privacy any time soon to do any of the other things that I’m… dying to do.

I’m indulging in a little fantasy now, but not the hot Ollie kind, imagining what it would be like to take hold of Xylina while she’s in her feline form, stuff her in a canvas bag, and toss her foul self into the pond, making sure said bag is appropriately weighted with stones, of course. I’m in the midst of guessing how quickly she might sink when Ollie’s cough pulls me out of my reverie.

Damn, and I was having such a good time…

“You wouldn’t and I know it,” he says softly, turning me and pulling me against him so that my back meets his front, his arms tangled about me, his lips buried in my hair. “I know you too well, and you are a very honorable man, Stan Lawrence.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what Brutus said about Julius Caesar too,” I mumble, but I don’t disagree with him because I know he’s right. I would never harm an animal, even that one—even if technically she’s not an animal, although I’m not going into that either—but it’s therapeutic to pretend otherwise.

“Why don’t we go to the park and wait there for Egbert to arrive?” He nuzzles my neck, and I can feel the tip of his tongue as he drags it across my collarbone and of course I give in.

“Her too?” I gasp out.

“Xy, can you do lookout?” he asks her, and without looking, I imagine the evil gleam in her eye that’s aimed at me, but I don’t care, I feel too damn good to worry about it. He ameliorates the request by adding, “I trust your instincts regarding humans.”

Huh, as if…

Of course that means I can’t lean against him like this, much as I’d like to, so I reluctantly stand a little straighter, but he compensates by winding his arm about my waist, and we walk together to the park, the frustrating feline having shifted and scurried ahead of us.

Since we’re early, I suppose that we’ll fill in our time with wandering about, seeing what plants are in bloom, which of the local perverts is doing what, and try to avoid the local fauna as much as possible. Not that I’m even sure what species of critters might just be native to Cortez, but I’m reasonably sure that I don’t want to know either.

So imagine my surprise when he leads me directly toward a small brick building situated not too far from the pond. One side is marked gals, the other guys; we head toward the latter and step inside. Four stalls, no waiting, and no one else in sight.

“Ollie, what—”

I’ve barely got the words out when he’s pulled me into the nearest stall, covered my lips with his own and stolen my breath away. He slams the door shut and presses me up against it, and I’m too dizzy to think, drinking in the taste of his mouth on mine. I feel his hand snake between us, feel his palm encompass my growing hardness, press against it with purpose.

I squirm in his grasp, feeling I’m going to blow any minute when suddenly he drops to his knees, unzips me and takes me into his mouth without warning. I arch my back and my head bangs against the door, my hands form fists and my mouth falls open in amazement as he works his magic on me, his heat consuming me, possessing me, owning me, as he draws out everything that is in me and makes it his.

Let there be no doubt that I am his and always will be. Ollie says he knew it, long before he arrived to claim me.

Damn possessive alien.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And when we’re done, I melt in his arms and we stand there for a time, our hearts beating as one.

to be continued

Now on to the rest of the Briefers!

Nephylim    m/m

Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f

Chris T. Kat   m/m

Victoria Adams      m/f

Lily Sawyer      m/m 

MA Church    m/m

Tali Spencer    m/m

MC Houle      m/m

Cia Nordwell    m/m

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #13

Welcome, welcome, one and all!  Come in, pull up a chair, and relax as we give  you your weekly dose of flash fiction! This week I actually used one of the picture prompts:

This week, I continue with the story of Stan and Ollie. Last week, by some weird alien twist, Ollie opined that the body in question was near water. And the fun continues! Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are doing, whose links follow my tale!  Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #13

Now you know one of the reasons, albeit not the most important one, that Ollie and I live in the middle of nowhere Texas. He keeps me in such a continual state of excitation that I’m hard put to keep my hands off of him. Works better when we’re alone—we’re not exhibitionists. And I definitely don’t share.

And, in case you’re wondering, before I met him, I was never like this about anyone. No one.

The biggest reason that we live where we do is for his safety, though. Because of his status as an illegal alien par excellence. The kind that couldn’t get a green card if he tried, and would undoubtedly end up as the object of some hideous government experiment.

Okay, now, back to the subject at hand. Think. Bodies of water in or near Cortez, Mississippi.

There’s the pond in the middle of that park we were at. The one where Consuelo’s obviously distraught fiancé flung the single tulip. But obviously not the place, or her body would have been discovered long before now.

Unless…

“Is it possible that the body’s been weighted down?” I’m thinking aloud now. Sometimes I think I need a filter, when I see my sensitive lover wince.

“I don’t think so. At least, that’s not the impression that I get. Just for a second, though, there was an image…” 

I reach for Ollie’s hands, hold them tightly between my own, lending him my strength. He closes his eyes in concentration. “A door. Maybe brass. Or maybe rusted. I can’t tell. Some sort of circular handle…” He suddenly falls limp into my arms, and my heart damn near stops.

I know it’s from the expenditure of energy, and that he’ll be fine, but still… I brush my lips across his pale forehead, and for a long moment simply hold him close, enveloping him in my love. Finally, with a soft sigh, he looks up at me, his head on my shoulder, his lips curling up into a lazy smile, the one I know so well.

“I think we should talk to her fiancé. Prepare him for what’s coming.”

I push back slightly damp tendrils of blond hair. “What will we tell him?” I frown.

“The truth.”

I was so afraid he’d say that. I’m not opposed to the truth, mind you, just to anything that’s potentially dangerous for Ollie. Anything that leads back to us, for example.

“It’s the humane thing to do, Stan,” he pleads.

Damn self-righteous alien.

“How do you propose we find him? Look in the Yellow Pages?” I don’t mean to be snarky with him, it just comes out that way. “Do we hit him up at work? What?”

“We may not know where he is at this moment but we know where he will be.”

“We do?”

Ollie nods.  “Remember? He drops a tulip in the pond every day.”

Why didn’t I think of that? “That might not be for a while,” I counter.

“You’re right. It might not be.”

“We should find something to do in the meantime.”

He arches a knowing brow at me, while I feign innocence.

“Like what?”

“Like maybe head back to the hotel for a quick… lie-down? Let you get your strength back?”

“Is that what they’re calling that these days?” He moves closer to me, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath as his lips hover over my own, and my heart stutters and skips a beat, and suddenly I’ve lost the focus of what I’m saying. So close that I can feel his arousal pressing against me, and I want it so badly I can virtually taste it. I swallow a whimper in the back of my throat.

“Just for a little while… Until you make me feel better…” That’s not what I meant to say at all, he’s got my thoughts all unglued. I meant until he feels better, of course.

“Do I make you feel better, Stan?” His lips just barely touch mine, for a fraction of a second, his words going straight to my cock. Suddenly, his arms are what’s keeping me from sliding to the ground, cause it’s sure not my legs. Now he’s holding me up, and not the other way around.

“Always,” I moan.

If the guys on the force could see me now, they wouldn’t believe it. Officer Stanley Lawrence with a weakness. The cop once known as Hard as Nails Lawrence. The guy who took no shit from anyone, just dished it out. The same guy that never had time for a love life, and didn’t want one. Well, things change; nothing is static. Ollie isn’t just my weakness. He’s my strength. And I don’t care who knows it.

Jeez, sometimes I think I could work for Hallmark.

He traces my lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Ollie…” I groan.

He nuzzles my cheek, the simple touch of his nose against my flesh so erotic that I feel like I’m about to lose control. I swallow… hard.

“Hotel?” is all I’m capable of saying, but it’s enough, as our eyes meet and he kisses me, sending electric charges shooting through every inch of my body, every single synapse alight with the sensations that he produces .

Can anyone say afternoon delight?

He eases me onto my feet and, once he’s sure I’m properly balanced, he threads our fingers together, and we begin to walk in the direction of the hotel. I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but Ollie… Talk about extreme tunnel vision.

“Where are you two going?” An angry hiss, disguised as a female. We damn near run into her, so oblivious are we to our surroundings.

Felinus interruptus.

“Go away,” I snarl. I try to kick at her without hitting Ollie, but he intercepts my attempt.

“Patience,” he whispers, turning to Xylina. “You have news?”

She glares at me, but offers him a smile. “Yes,” she purrs.

“And?”

“There is no baby…”

to be continued

Now visit my fellow Wednesday Briefers:

Nephylim     m/m

MA Church    m/m

Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f

Lily Sawyer     m/m 

Chris T. Kat   m/m

Cia Nordwell     m/m

MC Houle      m/m

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #12

Happy Wednesday, one and all! Today I am with you in spirit only, as I've gone to Indiana to visit my daughter! I'll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, I leave you with this week's Wednesday Brief! This week's prompt was: "survival of the fittest" or use: tarragon, root, energy, or "Please pass me the..." or "One plus one equals..." or use: redemption, salvage, spice or use a joker in  your story.

Also, I'm guest blogging on my friend Marian Lanouette's blog, talking about Revelations. Stop by and say hello!

Last week, the boys (and the ladies at the beauty salon) heard something shocking! The story continues in this week's installation of Stan and Ollie. Enjoy! Then don't forget to see what the other Wednesday Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale!

Stan and Ollie #12

The gasping that follows that startling declaration would probably measure 8 or 9 on the Richter scale of shocked exclamations, assuming there was such a thing.

 Damn, I’m glad we decided to come here. 

Fortuitous choice. I’m not saying that women gossip more than men. Hell no, that’s a definite stereotype, and I’ve listened to too many members of my own sex to know that. But I do have to say this. Women tend to have their fingers on the pulse of what is going on in situations where most men can be oblivious. I truly believe in women’s intuition.

“What do you mean, condition? Is Emmy sick? Is she dying?” one young woman exclaims.

A snort is heard from my stylist. “Mary Lou, are you kidding? You’re old enough to understand by now…”

“You mean—”

“I mean that Bodean’s done put a bun in her oven,” Myrtle explains. “And you know what else that means?”

No one ventures an opinion. Me, I’m just a bystander, not about to put my two cents in, but I have an idea, even in this day and age. Her next words affirm my guess.

“Shotgun wedding. Probably before Little Missy gets a chance to show a little bump in that perfect figure. Her daddy’ll see to that.”

More head bobbling. I exchange a glance with Ollie; he arches his silken eyebrows at me. I have a question that I don’t wish to voice. I just hope someone thinks to ask it because I don’t feel comfortable injecting myself into their “private” conversation. While they seem to have forgotten we’re sitting in their midst, that would be a definite reminder, and probably an unwelcome one.

Thankfully, I’m not the only one with that same question.

“Now hold on here, Maybelle.” Attention swivels to the woman who first spilled the beans. She had a large black beehive and red lips that look troweled on. “What makes you think Emmy’s pregnant? Or that Bodean’s the daddy?”

“Well, Judy Parmenter told me Emmy was there just the other day. You know, for an appointment. With Doc Riddle.”

“And?”

“Well, you know what one plus one equals, don’t you?”

As the conversation degenerates into a rather detailed gynecological discussion, all relating to the process of childbirth, I tune it out, for the sake of my own sanity. Instead, I turn my attention to Ollie, focusing on him. Mindi is just blow-drying his hair back to its natural blond shade. I have to admit she did a good job. I can feel my blood pressure skyrocket, just looking at him. Too bad we’ve no time to act on it. At least not now.

Mindi finishes and begins to put my lover back to rights, carefully removing the sheet draped over him with the little bits of hair on it. Setting it aside, she brushes him off carefully, before turning him for my inspection. “Like what you see?”

Indeed I do.

I show my pleasure with large tips for both Mindi and Myrtle, pay our bill with the receptionist and make our departure, unnoticed by the general population. Before the door closes on us, though, I can hear Mindi’s giggle, and her exclamation of “Aren’t they so cute?” I have to smile.

Now on to other business. And for that I need a certain someone, unfortunately. A necessary evil, as the likelihood of me getting an appointment with an ob/gyn is absolute zero.

“What next?” Ollie asks.

“Summon her majesty, please.” I can’t explain how they communicate. It goes beyond mere telepathy, something inherently more symbiotic. I just know that it works. She arrives in mere moments, and I explain what needs to be done. She seems less than enthusiastic, favoring me with her usual sarcastic glare.

“You want me to go where and let some man do what to me?”

Before I can respond with something completely inappropriate, Ollie steps in. “You don’t have to go that far, Xy, just make an appointment and chat up the receptionist. If you can, find a way to look into Emmy’s file and see the reason for her last visit. You’re good at that.”

Flattery will get him everywhere. Suck up.

“A last name would help.” She directs her remark to me; she’d never criticize Ollie.

“Look in the appointment book. Duh.”

She arches her back and hisses at me. Well, not literally, as she isn’t a cat at the moment. Not a pretty sight.

“Stan, please, that’s not helping.”

I know it, but it feels good.

He calms her down and sends her on her way, after ascertaining she’s had no luck in finding the dearly departed. Not yet.

“Think maybe she’s buried?” Ollie voices my own fear. Of course, should that prove to be the case, it’s not an insurmountable obstacle.

I consider the question, then turn my gaze to his, looking deep into his eyes. “Do you?”

Ollie makes no immediate reply—not that I expected one—falling silent. I watch with awestruck admiration as the internal process begins. I could not put a name on it if I tried. A million shades of color flash through his beautiful eyes, too fast and too subtle for my mere human brain to register even a small part of them. The overall effect is stunning. His lips fall open slightly as he virtually ceases to breathe for the moment, his skin taking on a more lustrous pearlescent cast. I’m mesmerized and, at the same time, very much turned on.

Thirty seconds pass. Or maybe only twenty. I sure as shit can’t say which. Then his own shade of blue returns, and I hear the quick breath he exhales. It takes all my self-control not to yank him back to the hotel.

“No,” he murmurs. “Not buried. But there is water.”

Water? Now that’s interesting. And something to go on.

Now to locate the nearest body of water.

to be continued

Now visit the other Wednesday Briefers!

Chris T. Kat   m/m MA Church     m/m Tali Spencer     m/m Victoria Adams     m/f Elyzabeth VaLey    m/f Nephylim     m/m

Lily Sawyer     m/m  

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #11

I hope everyone had a wonderful New Year's Eve! Here we are, it's 2013, and time for the first flash of the new year! This week's prompts were: "If I thought you would..." or use: pestilence, sigh, wrath or "He laid his hand upon my..." or use: train, cow, platitude or use a Pokemon or a pocket monster in your story or "When did you get to be so..."

This week, I return to my continuing story of Stan and Ollie, after a two week hiatus. Last seen, they were at Aunt Hettie's, soaking up the atmosphere and some food, now they're on to another source of information, aka the beauty parlor. After visiting with them, don't forget to see what all the other Wednesday Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #11

After dinner, we returned to our hotel, picking up Miss Nasty along the way. Unfortunately, she had nothing to report, so we turned in for the night.  Our room at the Shadee Rest is surprisingly comfortable.  I need no alarm to wake me in the morning; I have Ollie for that, with his daily ritual. As I feel him stir, I rise on up one elbow, watching him, becoming aware of a lump at my feet. Frowning, I glare toward the end of the bed at the cat with the self-satisfied smirk.

“Get the hell off of there!” I snarl.

“Stan, be reasonable.” Ollie’s already at my side of the bed, bending over and caressing my lips with his. 

“You didn’t want to get a second room and you couldn’t expect her to sleep in the carrier, surely?”

I guess it could have been worse; I try to put a good spin on it, for Ollie’s sake. At least she stayed in cat form.

However, I can’t resist getting the last word as Ollie heads into the bathroom. I eye her as I pull on my clothes. “If I thought you would cooperate, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She pays me no heed, and licks at one paw before running it across her face in obvious disdain for my words.

“Bitch,” I mutter. But not too loudly.

We decide to take breakfast at the hotel restaurant. Does everything on the damn menu have to come with grits? I permit Xylina to join us (in human form, of course), a concession to my lover that pleases him greatly. When she isn’t looking, I dump my grits on her plate. Childish? Maybe. Satisfactory? Completely.

Our first stop of the day is the hair salon our waitress of the night before told us about. Miss Jane’s, over on Magnolia. When I suggest to her majesty that maybe she should come with us, she could use a touch-up on her roots, she takes her indignant ass somewhere else, saying she’s going to keep searching for Consuelo—which was my intent all along. I know, I’m a cheeky bastard. And I love it.

As I’d hoped, the beauty parlor is filled with a lot of the local women. It seems to be a gathering place for them, gossip being exchanged freely along with haircuts, manicures, and dye jobs. There’s a definite generation gap that makes itself manifest here, but also shows the range of the stylists—everything from bouffant beehives to sassy pageboys to whatever you call the newest trends. I just call them hot messes.

We check in with the receptionist who smiles at us in the professional way such ladies have, tells us to have a seat and someone shall be right with us. It doesn’t take long—thank heaven, as the only reading material available is of the purely sensational variety of the kind where the most titillating part of the story is on the cover and the rest is pure dribble—before we find ourselves sitting in adjacent chairs. Ollie’s stylist is young and trendy, her close-cropped hair laced with blue and purple highlights, while the woman who stands behind my chair is older, has dark hair with blonde roots. I’ve never understood why anyone born a natural blonde would want to cover that up, but apparently some of them do, while other people are more than happy to get the same result from a bottle. Go figure.

Luckily, Ollie doesn’t carry through with his threat to get highlights. I can’t help but eye his stylist with suspicion as she runs her finger through his curls and squeals. That’s the effect he has on women, and I knew it going in, but it doesn’t mean I want to see it.

Suddenly, as she rotates his chair so that he and I are eye to eye, he blows me a kiss, putting our relationship out there for everyone to see. Far from discouraging the girl, whose name is Mindi, she squeals excitedly, still fingering Ollie’s locks.

Score one for us, I guess.

First order of business is having our hair washed. I hadn’t really planned on doing that, but when I open my mouth to tell Myrtle so she’s already hustled me to the washing station, covered me with a sheet of plastic, laid my head backward and begun to hose me. I wisely keep my mouth shut at that point. It doesn’t take long, as I keep my hair cut fairly short, and I’m back in the chair followed, moments later, by my better half. His normally blond curls are dark and damp, yet he still manages to look sexy while exuding the aura of a wet pup.

At least I can hear better now.

“I saw you last night.” That’s Mindi, talking to Ollie as she eyes him critically and takes small clips of his hair. I know he’s only asked for a trim, but my heart’s in my throat in a reverse Sampson and Delilah as I watch him get shorn. “You were at Miss Hettie’s, weren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, we were.” Ollie rewards her with a big smile. I can feel the heat of her excitement from here.

I’m about to comment on the food, perhaps to stir up further conversation, when the matter is introduced for me, without my intervention.

A woman in a nearby chair sniffs loudly. “Did you see him carrying on like…. Like someone half his age?”

“I know,” Myrtle comments. “And that hussy, no better than she should be. Little tramp.”

Her words are taken up and echoed, and I can see head bobbing in the mirror, as I survey the room behind me.

“What do you expect from Northern trash?” More nods of agreement.

“Damn Yankees…”

You’d think the Civil War was fought just yesterday.

“It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is.” The first woman again. “Especially in her condition.”

All heads swivel to the source of this shocking revelation.

What?

to be continued

Now go check out the rest of the Wednesday Briefers:

Chris T. Kat  m/m

Nephylim     m/m

Tali Spencer    m/m

Cia Nordwell     m/m

MA Church     m/m

Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f

Victoria Adams      m/f

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie