Sunday Writing Prompt — The Context of Sex

65A65782-03EE-4A12-BD0E-A32B595FF0B7A funny thing happened on the way to the bedroom on the night I lost my virginity. What happened that was so funny? Well, the truth is that it didn’t actually take place in a bedroom, although that probably would have been a better venue for what did happen that night.

No, the first time I had sex was actually in the back of my father’s Chevy station wagon, which, for that night, anyway, served as a makeshift bedroom. After I picked the girl up, I drove the car to the the fringe of the woods not that far from my house. I’ll never forget that night. It was pouring rain and I, since I had never had sex before, I was very nervous.

Fortunately, the girl I was with was very experienced and, more important, very patient, which was good because I really had no idea what I was doing. When I started fumbling with a condom, she put it on me and then helped me go where I’d never gone before. We got into a rhythm, like that of the falling rain, and just as I was experiencing my very first orgasm, the sound of a huge clap of thunder exploded in the atmosphere. The timing couldn’t have been any more perfect.

What wasn’t so perfect was the next morning when my father gave me a ride to school on his way to work and asked me why his station wagon smelled like fish. I have to admit that I felt like a bit of a felon when I lied to him and said I had no idea why his car would smell that way.

Written for the Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovesmisery Menagerie, where we can choose from “kitchen,” bedroom,” or “laundry” following “A funny thing happened on the way to the….” I chose bedroom. Also written for these daily prompts: Jibber Jabber (truth), Word of the Day Challenge (first), Ragtag Daily Prompt (fringe), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (rain), The Daily Spur (fish), and Your Daily Word Prompt (felon).

As a bonus for reading this far, here’s a song from 1963 that, if memory serves, was playing on the car radio at the time.

First Line Friday — Reconnecting

4D2FE010-5CE3-4ADB-B1CC-506C99417764Lush melodies drew her to the door of the lounge, the friendly smiles enticed her inside. But as soon as she entered the room, she was hit by an atmosphere thick with the aroma of cigars. It reminded her of her father and a room in their house, which was actually a spare bedroom, when she was a young girl. It was the one place in their home where her mother permitted her father to smoke his cigars. This place smelled just like that room, and she wondered if all the men in the lounge would smell like her father did each time he emerged from that room of his. Strangely, the thought being in a room with men who smelled like her father both repelled and attracted her.

She made her way through the fog of cigar smoke until she reached the bar, where a man wearing a fedora was sitting by himself sipping on a martini and puffing away on a fat cigar. She stood next to him and asked the bartender to fix her a vodka martini, which he did. The bartender asked her if she wanted to start a tab. “Put it on my tab,” the man in the fedora said.

She sat down next to him. “Thanks,” she said. He tipped his head and said, “You’re welcome. We don’t get many classy dames like you in this place. What brings you here?”

“I was supposed to have dinner at the restaurant next door with my father, but he stood me up. I haven’t seen him in over ten years, since shortly after my mother died, and I was hoping to reconnect with him tonight. But when he never showed, I didn’t feel like sitting there by myself, so I left the restaurant and came over here when I heard the music,” she explained.

“Ah, that’s why you’re all dolled up,” he said, giving her the once over. “Your old man must be a fool to have left you sitting all alone like that.”

“Thank you, I guess. I’m Monica,” she said, extending a hand. “And you are?”

He took her hand and squeezed gently. “I’m Frank. Pleased to meet you, Monica,” he said. “That’s a nice name.”

“My father’s name was Frank,” Monica said. “Like you, he enjoyed his cigars.” Monica looked more closely at the man sitting next to her. “Would you mind taking your hat off? I want to see your face.”

“Sure, babe, whatever you want,” Frank said, removing his hat and putting it on the bar to his left.

Monica let out a gasp. “Oh my God,” she said. “You look remarkably like my father when he was a younger man.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted?” Frank asked, a smile on his face.

Monica had heard her father use that expression many times over the years. A weird feeling came over her. “What is your last name?” she asked Frank.

“Grayson,” he said. “Frank Grayson, but my friends call me Smitty.”

Monica felt faint. “This can’t be happening,” she said. “My last name is Grayson and my father’s nickname is Smitty. Is this some kind of a sick joke? She stood up, put down her drink, grabbed her wrap, and ran toward the door.

“Hey, honey, it’s 1955,” Frank yelled as she was leaving. “You need to lighten up in these modern times.”

As Monica left the lounge, Rod Serling appeared just outside the door. “Monica missed her estranged father terribly,” he said, “but when he didn’t show up for dinner tonight, she left the restaurant and walked into the past, where she finally met her father again…in a cigar lounge called The Twilight Zone.”

Written for the First Line Friday prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The first line is “Lush melodies drew her to the door of the lounge, the friendly smiles enticed her inside.” Image credit: “Cigar Bar Evening Lounge” by Brent Lynch.

MLMM Photo Challenge — Detective Story

04154B14-3D3E-432C-88F0-71654019DBB1The two detectives, Fred Morrisey and Ron Hayden, rushed to the scene at Ocean Beach as soon as they got the call. “The vic must have still been alive when he was buried under the sand,” Morrisey surmised as he looked down at the hand sticking up out of the moist sand.

“What a gruesome way to go,” Hayden said, as he was furiously taking notes. “Could it have been a prank gone bad?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” Morrisey said. “If this was an accident, there would be footprints in the sand, but whoever did this meticulously smoothed over the sand to cover their tracks. This was no accident.”

“Oh shit!” Hayden exclaimed. “My damn pen is leaking and now my fingers are all inky.”

“Go wash your hands off,” Morrisey said. “I’ll go talk to the ME and tell him he’s clear to get the forensics team to start digging the body out of the sand.” Morrisey walked over to where the medical examiner was waiting in the shade under the pergola for the detectives to finish their initial inspection.

“Doc, you gotta get your guys out there quickly,” Morrisey said to the ME. “The tide is starting to come in and we don’t want a rogue wave to destroy the crime scene before you can ascertain the time and cause of death.”

“We’ll get right on it, Fred” the ME said. “I’ll call you when I have anything to report.”

“Be sure to check under each fingernail to see if you can get any DNA,” Morrisey said.

“Thanks for the time savings tip, detective,” the ME said icily. “If I find anything other than sand, you’ll be the first to know.

Written for the Photo Challenge from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. Photo credit: David Altmejd. Also for the following daily prompts: Word of the Day Challenge (inky), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (pergola), Jibber Jabber (wave), Your Daily Word Prompt (ascertain), Ragtag Daily Prompt (fingernail), and The Daily Spur (savings).

Sunday Writing Prompt — The “Lockdown”

Coronavirus in AmericaMy dear fellow Americans (and citizens of the world),

It’s time we had a serious conversation about coronavirus, Covid-19, or, as our asshole, racist president calls it, “the China virus.”

It has come to my attention that some of you apparently believe it’s a hoax and that the press and even the public health experts are using scare tactics to take away your freedom and liberty to be as stupid and selfish as you want to be. You question the efficacy of practicing social distancing and of wearing face masks when outside of your home, and make lame excuses for refusing to do so. You have even turned such practices into political issues.

Don’t you understand that social distancing and wearing of face masks are designed to aid in controlling and reducing the spread of this highly contagious disease that has infected more than 4.3 million Americans and killed almost 150,000? And, regardless of your age, gender, or state of health, you are not immune.

There’s an old expression: an ounce of protection is worth a pound of cure. Don’t be a selfish, ignorant asshole like Donald Trump. For your own safety, and for the safety of those you know and love, stay at home whenever possible. And when you do go somewhere, wear a mask and practice social distancing. Doing so won’t harm or kill you and those you care about. Contracting COVID-19 may.

Written for today’s Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.F9D146EF-8F7E-49B9-906F-0F46CF82C801Also for these daily prompts: Word of the Day Challenge (conversation), Jibber Jabber (believe), Your Daily Word Prompt (efficacy), The Daily Spur (excuses), Ragtag Daily Prompt (design), and Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aid).

MLMM Photo Challenge — Gummies

F0E150E0-0929-4114-8AFC-6F907E67F3D7Jerry finally found Gabe sitting in a recliner in the media room. Gabe was staring off into space and holding a bowl of sugar-coated sour gummies. “Hey, dude,” Jerry said, “we’ve been wondering where you went off to. “How many of those gummies have you eaten? You know they are pot-infused edibles, right?”

“Oh man, no wonder I’m feeling so weird,” Gabe said. “I’ve been munching on these things like they’re candy.”

“They are candy, dude, but with pot in them,” Jerry said. “When you first arrived, you pointed at the bowl and asked what they were and I told you they were edible gummies. I thought you knew.”

Gabe started to laugh. “Oh right. I thought you were just letting me know that these gummies are edible, and everyone knows that gummies are edible. I thought it was strange for you to point out that they were edible or that you thought I wouldn’t know that,” Gabe explained.

“Well, it seems that you didn’t know they were pot-infused! So are you going to be okay, dude?” Jerry asked. “It usually only takes one or two of these gummies to get you stoned and you’ve had quite a few.”

“I feel like I’m kinda floating right now,” Gabe admitted. “And everything feels really intense and I’m having trouble concentrating and you’ve got the biggest damn TV I’ve ever seen. Can we watch something?”

“I guess. Anything in particular?”

“How about one of those nature shows? I love those.”

Jerry turned on the TV and switched to the National Geographic channel. “How’s this?” he asked Gabe.

Gabe sat back in the recliner and started gazing, wide-eyed, at the TV. “That’s great,” he said. Then he reached into the bowl of gummies to take another.

“Nah, dude, I think you’ve had enough,” Jerry said, grabbing the bowl of gummies. “Just sit back and enjoy your nature show. I’ve got other guests to attend to. I’ll check in on you later.”

“Cool,” Gabe said.

About half an hour later Jerry went back to the media room to check on Gabe. Gabe was fast asleep and snoring loudly. “Sweet dreams, dude,” Jerry said, as he covered Gabe with a knitted afghan.

Written for the Photo Challenge from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. Photo credit: NEKNEERAJ.