Monday, July 5, 2010

Let's make a deal.

Jesus. There are times when I'm so fucking bad.

Given the chance, the right amount of caffeine in my system, and how tired I am, my imagination takes my brain on sudden whirlwinds from time to time. I roll my eyes to myself, I smirk, I'll chuckle on the streetcar, and people look at me like I'm crazy.

But it's just so fun.

Lately, I'm trying to sell some antiques that I've acquired over the years, and have been making a lot of postings on CL. Some of the pieces are artifacts from when The Grrl was with me, and so parting with them would be healthy for my psyche. Some are simply things I just don't have the space or dire need for. Other things are echoes, physical noise from my past.

I had a pair of antique window frames that I rescued from a house renovation, for example. I intended on replacing the glass with either stained glass work or mirrors, but the damned things just sat in my storage unit for ever and ever.

A CL posting later, and someone whom I thought was a male with a uniquely Slavic name was heading over to buy them for three times my asking price. kaching! I open the front door, and "Virve the artist" turns out to be this statuesque Nordic blonde who looks as though she's previously won biathalon gold. I must have looked somewhere between cute and ridiculous when my jaw dropped and my eyes fluttered. Leading her into the garage, where I was holding the frames, my cock twitched under my jeans as she stood directly under a crossbeam.

"Oh, ja. Just relax, meinem frau. Raise your arms over your pretty head. No, no, don't be afraid, these ropes won't cut into your wrists, won't hurt a bit, I promise. See? I'm not feeling a thing! Now, how effectively might these scissors remove the tight denim covering your lovely, butch bottom, mm? ...Sehr gut...

I'm selling a wooden dresser. It's worn, but with the right TLC would be a very solid piece for someone. An office worker named Tina responds, and she's haggling over my dirtcheap price right away. I cave. She sends another email now that she's seen a very swish dining table I'm also offering (the very one that Molly sucked my cock beside and squirted her grrlcum under two years ago) and is haggling with me over email for both pieces. I like her spunk (Tina's, not Molly's. ...ok, I like Molly's too...), but she's undercutting me way too low.

"You sure you can't take just $60 for them both, mister?," she asks. "Your price is really fair, like, but it's just that I can't afford to spend that... and it really is a great table..."

She glances over her shoulder and reaches for my crotch gently, leading me into the storage unit. She turns on the timed light and it cliks loudly as she lowers the aluminum door behind us. She bites her lower lip as she kisses me.

really like the table..." She drops to her knees and unzips me slowly.

Yeah. I chuckle to myself.

I continue haggling with CL responses when, speak of the devil's mistress, a message from Molly herself appears on my Facebook. Talk about serendipity.

She's interested in some books I'm culling, but making it to the storage unit to pick her choices is a small hassle for her. No crisis.

Now, I know for a fact that Molly, God love the sexy fandom geek she is, isn't exactly swimming in cash. She's been rebuilding her world, and more power to her. Sure, the books'll be cheap... but my brain had already been in the gutter. Shameless, sarcastic me. I caught myself smirking again when, you betcha, part of my naughty, laughing head pondered poor, happily-submitting Molly sucking me for garage sale reading material.

"I just happen to love cock," she told me once, her wet lips slurping around my shaft after dinner. "And yours is attached to a particularly nice guy."

I can just picture it now...

"Oh! Mercedes Lackey! Piers Anthony!" likk Oh! Anne McCaffrey! Douglas Adams! sssuk Oh cool! A Laurel K. Hamilton I haven't read ssstroke Hey! The complete Marion Zimmer Bradley! mmmbub mmmbub Mmmm.. nice.... Oh! A limited edition series of Anne Rice?! mmf mmmf slrrrp! Oh... oh my God! A hardcover, limited, gold-embossed, fucking fiftieth anniversary edition of The Hobbit! mMMmmmm mmmlp mulp mmmf mmmph Mm MmMMMMmmmm...

I wonder. What would she do for some out-of-print Michael Moorcock? Hardbound? With, you know, a thick and sturdy embossed spine?

The ironic and funny thing is, kidding aside, I would be surprised if Molly wouldn't enjoy sucking my cock again, books or no books. She keeps inviting me to the local polyamory social events. Maybe one of these days I won't be too busy to go.

And maybe I'll have some Andre Norton in my pocket. You know, just in case.

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