Written for Six Sentence Story where we are challenged to incorporate the prompt word āmoveā into a story of exactly six sentences. Hereās my six.
He looked real good so I made my move and walked right up to him, kissing him long and hard on the lips. He pulled me close, groaning as his hands slid up my dress and I could tell he was more than happy to see me, if you get my drift.
āListen, babyā, he said sotto voce, āI had a nice gig dealing at a casino up in Buffalo and I made some serious moola running a fool-proof scam; Iām dealing here tonight so if you and me were to double up, we could make a killing.ā
It sounded dangerous and exciting. I nibbled his ear and reached between his legs, giving him an approving squeeze, and whispered āIām inā.
āWork first, then Iāll show you how much I missed youāĀ he promised as I knocked on the door; the peephole opened and immediately slid closed, then the door cracked an inch and we were quickly ushered into a back room heavy with the scent of leather, cigars and money.
I was lost, a bit frightened and filled with regretfor not making a note of the address. A hazy moon began to make her appearance in the evening sky, leaving the tiny Palermo street awash in a warm orange glow. Squinting in the darkness, I saw what appeared to be a tunnel at the end of the street; there was no way I was going to walk into the black unknown. Slowly I inched closer and discovered the tunnel was actually a stairway. Just as I quickened my pace, an arm shot out of a hidden doorway and pulled me inside, pinning me against a wall. A deep voice I knew intimately whispered in honeyed Sicilian tones “PicchƬ ci haiu misu tantu tempu, amuri miu? Ti vogghiu beni!”Āŗ Passionate kisses drifted down my neck. Breathless, I murmured “I’m here now, my love. Show me.”
Kiss me now, my love, In the warm glow of the moon You possess my heart
It was Friday night and my paycheck was burning a hole in my pocket. As it turns out, my on again/off again boyfriend, Jagger, was off again so I was free as the proverbial bird. Just as well; I was getting tired of the slouch anyway. But it was New Yearās Eve 1946 and I didnāt want to be alone.
Anxious to hit the tables and ring in the new year, I got myself all dolled up in an outfit that was quite possibly illegal in 33 states ā a lowcut slinky little black number with a high side slit, silk stockings with lacy garters and red satin stilettos. Maybe Iād run into a high roller ready, willing and monetarily able to treat me to a bourbon, a thick juicy steak and a slice of pie a la mode.
I grabbed a taxi to the casino, the driver giving me the once-over in the rearview. I wasnāt interested in any two-bit palooka so I played it cool. Averting my eyes, I glanced out the window, snuggled deeper into my fur coat and lit a Chesterfield. The smoke encircled my head and my bright red lipstick left a perfect kiss around the filter.Ā
When we arrived, I tossed a fiver at the cabbie and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The staccato of my heels alerted the man in black .ā¦ Special Agent Sam Bishop.
āEvening, Candace. Youāre looking angelic, if you donāt mind my saying. I donāt suppose youāve heard from Jagger.ā
Written for Quadrille Monday dVerse Poets Pub; De Jackson is asking us to create a 44-word poem using the word āFriday”. My poem is a Dectina Refrain: 1st line is 1 syllable, 2nd line is 2 syllables 3rd line is 3 syllables, and so on for 9 lines; the 10th line is comprised of the first four lines as one stand-alone sentence.
Our Friday night dinner we wait all week to sit on the couch and eat sexy pizza with cheese like hot melted love, gooey and deliciously good, and we drink tall glasses of red wine. Our Friday night dinner we wait all week
We were driving down iconic Route 66 in our convertible Volkswagen Jetta on our way from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, everything we owned being towed in a small rented U-Haul. In the backseat on the floor behind us, sleeping in his carrying case, was our bulldog puppy, Ringo.
Weād been on the same stretch of road without seeing another soul for what seemed like an eternity ā nothing but miles of tall corn and wheat fields swaying in the breeze. We talked about everything, especially opening our new veterinary practice ā a huge step in our professional lives but one we were ready for. Our real estate agent sent us photos of our new office with the name boldly printed in black lettering on a light grey awning: Peterson’s Planned PetHood. šāā¬
Rummaging through the glove box looking for a snack bar, I came across The Beatles White Album. āHey, look what I foundā I said, showing the CD to my husband, Doc.
āExcellent! Put it on, Babe.ā
Opening the case, I discovered a long-forgotten joint, crushed but still viable. āWhoa! Check it out. This CD comes with a bonus track!ā
We lit up, the stale weed snapping and popping as it burned. Even the smallest of tokes resulted in fits of coughing but we still got a decent buzz on. The CD was an incredible find; with each mile down the road we got a little bit higher and a little bit louder singing along to the tunes.
And then there it was ā the unmistakable intro of funky get-down guitar slaps and drum beats leading into āWhy Donāt We Do It In The Road?ā. We were grooving in our seats, thumping on the car doors, digging the hell out of that song.
Doc pulled the car over onto the shoulder. Lowering his sunglasses down his nose, he looked at me seductively and started singing āNo one will be watching us, why donāt we do it in the road?ā
āHave you lost your mind? What are you … some horny teenager?ā
āWell, you’re half right, Iāll give ya that. Here we sit … a hot banging Beatles song playing, my incredibly sexy wife in a miniskirt and plenty of road. Listen. Paulās practically begging us to get out of this car and do it IN THE ROAD!ā
“Your know, we can get plenty cozy right here IN the car” I suggested, slowly stretching my legs on the dashboard.Ā
Doc laughed and leaned over to kiss me, whispering āWeāve done it IN the car ā¦ a lot. Cāmon, Becca!Ā Ā Letās get down [*kiss*]Ā and dirtyĀ [*kiss*]Ā and do it in the roadĀ [*long hot kiss*].Ā
It didn’t take much for me and doc to turn each other on. Pushing the āREPEATā button on the CD player, he grabbed a blanket from the back seat and we ran to the rear of the car. Laughing, I wriggled out of my panties and wrapped my legs around Doc’s waist as we eased ourselves to the ground.
Just as Paul let loose with the high note, we heard an “Ahem” and froze. Glancing sideways, we saw the shiniest pair of black boots standing two feet from our car. A man’s voice said āPardon me, folks. Trooper Matthew Blake, Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Just as soon as youāre finished checking that tow hitch, I suggest you best be on your way.āĀ And he walked back to his patrol car humming āWhy Donāt We Do It In The Road?ā.
As he drove by our car, Trooper Blake gave us two short beeps of his horn. We sheepishly got back into our car and continued our journey to Santa Monica. What a lovely little rest stop that had been!
After a few months living in our new digs, doing some online research and making a few calls, I finally discovered the address for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol location of Trooper Matthew Blake. I prepared a small mailing box with a shiny new pair of Ray-Bans and a mini photo of our infant son. A small card read:
“One For the Road” Gratefully ~ Doc, Becca and Matthew Blake Peterson š¶ļø
I smiled imagining what that trooper’s reaction would be when he read our son’s name.
There is a place somewhere called Paris And Iām going there on vacation today; A city where every useless worry or care is Forgotten and carelessly tossed away.
You won’t catch me near the Seine for dinner; Much too highbrow and touristy for me. Seat me at a bar with the saint or the sinner; Weāll close the place down at quarter past three.
Mona Lisa is enigmatic in a gilt frame so fine But the thought of the Louvre is a total bore. Iād rather be laughing in a park drinking wine Or sharing a smoke on a bench with a whore.
I’ve got nothing to hide; it’s far from a secret: When it comes to Parisian men Iām a big flirt. The playboys in the square whisper āCome, be my petā And I purr āOui, oui, mon cheri! Who will it hurt?”
There is a place somewhere called Paris And Iām going there on vacation today. I’ll give life a sultry lingering French kiss; When Iām in Paris I like to do things my way.
The Elephant's Trunk 