H is for Hell

A2Z2020For this year’s A to Z Challenge I’m going to attempt to post an old saying or adage each day of the month of April (except for Sundays). I’m going through the alphabet, with the first letter of the adage beginning with the first letter of the alphabet (A) and continuing for 26 adages in alphabetical order until I get through the entire alphabet by April 30 — from A to Z.

I don’t know if it can be done, but I’m going to give it the old college try. Here’s my April 9th adage and it starts with the letter H.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

#FPQ — Queen for a Day

ACE73167-CA5B-478C-A083-62F997D64943This past Wednesday I posed a “provocative question” on my blog. I asked my fellow bloggers, “If you could be the opposite sex for one day, what would you do?” My post received a lot of really thoughtful, interesting, and fun responses. At first I wasn’t going to answer my own question, but then I decided “why not?” So here’s my “queen for a day” response.

I am all male. Of that there’s no question. All of my body parts — and body hair — will attest to that. I do have my feminine side, though. I can be sensitive, empathetic, moody. I’ve been known to shed a tear or two at tear jerker movies, although I hate when that happens because I hate being manipulated.

But were I to wake up one morning and find myself in a woman’s body, I would be thrilled. As long as I knew that the next day my regular equipment would be fully restored, that is.

The first thing I would do would be to stand in front of a full-length mirror and admire my feminine form. I would, no doubt, explore my female body. Yes, I would fondle my breasts, purely to see what it feels like to a woman to have her breasts fondled. And yes, I’d go down to where my penis would normally be and would experience the sensation of being touched there.

I’ve always wondered what an orgasm feels like for a woman and this could be my chance to find out for myself. I’ve asked my wife and other women to describe it, but there’s nothing like first hand experience.

But how to do that? I certainly wouldn’t seek out a male to get me off. Ew, I wouldn’t want one of those “things” inserted into me. So maybe I’d get my wife’s vibrator, which she insists she doesn’t have, but I don’t believe her. She’s always buying batteries.

Having scratched that itch, so to speak, I’d next want to get dressed and wander outside. I’d want to see if I’d be treated any differently as a woman than I am as a man. I kind of doubt it, though, because, unless my age, as well as my gender, changed, I’d be an older woman. I’m not implying that older women aren’t attractive. I’m just saying that they are less likely to be hit on than younger women.

I’d then ask my wife to join me for dinner to have a girls’ night out. After dinner, the two of us would to go to a classy bar. You know, where rich, sophisticated, debonair men hang out to relax and unwind after their stressful day of making important man-decisions. I’d be curious to see if any of them would buy me a drink or hit on me. And I’d also exhibit my masculine side if any of those bastards tried to hit on my wife, which would be much more likely, as she’s a much more attractive woman than I could ever be.

And then I’d go home, get into bed, and think about my day as a woman. And I’d look forward to waking up and being a male again.

A Detective Story

The dispatcher had received a call from the housemate of a 26-year-old white female who hadn’t returned home the night before from a blind date and wasn’t answering her cellphone.

It wasn’t a surprise that, at first, the police paid little attention to the dispatcher’s report. After all, mornings were like a zoo at the precinct. All of the nocturnal creatures from the night before were stepping into the light, so to speak, and the officers on duty were barely keeping their heads above water.

Besides, these are modern times and the woman was over 21. Perhaps she and her blind date really hit it off. Maybe she intentionally shut off her cell so as not to spoil “the moment.” But when she also failed to show up for work that morning, the report started to get some serious attention.

Detective Fred Morrisey had been given a heads up when they found a green dress and some other articles of clothing hidden in the bushes around the reservoir about two hours after the initial missing persons call. According to the paperwork Morrisey had reviewed, the green dress matched the description of what the missing woman had been wearing when last seen by her housemate. No wallet, purse, or cellphone were found where the clothing had been spotted.

Was she alone or with her blind date, Morrisey silently wondered. Who was he and what happened to him? Could it have been an attempted robbery that went bad? Something as simple as a purse snatching? Maybe the victim fought back and ended up getting injured — or worse — in the struggle.

Morrisey’s experienced gut told him that sooner or later the uniforms would find the naked body of the woman who belonged in that green dress. But until they did, there was no case for him to pursue. Without a body, there was nothing for him, a homicide detective, to officially investigate. No body, no homicide.

He had other cases he was working, so he put the report about the missing woman aside. When his desk phone rang five minutes later, Morrisey knew even before he answered it that the body of the missing young woman had been found.

He also knew he was going to be in for a long day.

Written for today’s one-word prompt, “zoo.”