Drop 159: Fruity Crawl

mermaid‘How was fast bite? You bet sucky?’

‘Sure bid. Took the sigh home and we lucked all might.’

‘Aw yeah. Rid the blasty, hey? Dumped bubblies. Rot it lawn.’

‘Yup. Pot mad foodie.’

‘Good mung faction?’

‘Lure. He lent towns on me for more than a flower. Gingered my loosey. Slicked my Brit. Rate out my blunt.’

‘You red urn the flavor?’

‘Course. Mucked his sob. Pickled the pit. Bee tagged his yak. Went beetfloat till I almost grabbed.’

‘You guys boo banal?’

‘Yeah, with a skittle tube. He venerated me from le mind before humming on my mits.’

‘Loo mum poo?’

‘Free crimes. Dull ripple sarcasms. Flirted all over his race.’

‘Sounds like a glue dime.’

‘Yeah, but off horse, it was just a fruity crawl.’

By EM Vireo

Drop #158: Pleasure

privacy‘So, tell me, man,’ he said excitedly, nudging my shoulder, ‘how was last night?’

‘Amazing. Just incredible. Maybe the best ever.’

‘Seriously? Awesome!’

‘Yeah. She was relentless. Went on for hours.’

‘Wow. And what a hottie too.’

‘So hot, and so good at what she does. God, she blew me away. Waves and waves of pleasure.’

‘Nice.’

‘And when I thought it was done, she started all over again, working every inch of my body. Talk about stamina.’

‘I told you, dude. She’s a real pro. Top of the line. She came over last week when Susan was out of town, perfectly punctual, and very low-key. I love how she makes you feel so comfortable about it all.’

‘Totally,’ I said.

‘Did she pull out all those insane lubricating oils?’

‘Sure did. That took it over the edge. I already scheduled another session. I think I’ll try the deep tissue this time.’

‘Good call.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop 157: Camping

IMG_0755They arrive late and hurry to put the tent up before dark. He steps on her foot in the rush. Large man in boots. Slight woman in sandals. Full weight.

She sucks it up. There is work to do.

Fly nets, poles, guy lines and pegs. Pull it over. Push it through.

Anxious to finish, he shoves a pole through to far, poking her curtly in the ribs, and again in the left breast. It hurts and the scratch is clear under her top. He doesn’t apologize. Maybe he didn’t notice. It’s getting dark.

Tighten it up. Hammer it in. Headlights needed now to get it done.

Then inside to set up the sleeping quarters. He yanks a sleeping bag from the backpack with force, elbowing her in the ribs. ‘Here unroll that,’ is all he says.

She does, and the other, and blows up the first thin air mattress. The head is where the feet should be, so she turns it around in the tight space, grazing his shoulder ever so slightly with the corner as she does.

He jumps back as if electrocuted, and squeals. ‘Ow, Jesus! Watch out! Damn, that hurts,’ he says, rubbing his muscular deltoid, pulling his sweatshirt out to look for blood. ‘Be careful, for Christ’s sake. You could have blinded me!’

By EM Vireo

Drop #156: Robot

kitchen robot‘No need to weigh it separately,’ the woman in the apron says, pouring sugar rocks. ‘The bowl already acts as a scale—see.’

I’m standing next to the only man in the room. He’s handsome.

‘Once you reach the needed weight just press the home button again and read the next step on the panel here.’

One man, ten women, excluding the presenter.

‘One blade does it all. Whipping, mixing, and in this case grinding. This might be a little noisy.’ She pushes a button and though she warned us, the grating noise startles me. But it only lasts five seconds.

Dee-doo-dee: the machine let’s us know it is done. It sounds like the chimes before an airport announcement.

Almost half the women ooh as we are shown how the rocks have been ground effortlessly into fine powder. Almost half the others aah.

‘Your wife couldn’t make it?’ I ask the man softly, taking advantage of the pause in the presentation.

‘Excuse me? Oh, no, she’s busy.’

‘Nice of you to come in her place, use your Saturday and all.’

‘Now all we have to do is add the washed and halved lemons,’ the presenter carries on. ‘No need to peel them.’

‘You do any cooking too?’ I ask.

‘Sure,’ the man tells me.

‘Lucky wife you have. I’m the only cook in the family.’

At the touch of a button the machine jumps abruptly into action again, but with a softer sound, and for about ten seconds this time. The chimes again tells us it is done. Though identical, they now sound more like that off-key, somewhat disturbing arrangement from times past, when people still had land lines: Doo-da–dee: We’re sorry, there appears to be a receiver off the hook.

‘Lucky woman,’ I push on. ‘Are you going to buy her one?’

‘A kitchen robot? I don’t think so.’

The presenter pours lemonade into paper cups for us women and my male friend to try. ‘Of course this machine also cooks entire meals. It practically replaces your kitchen!’ She laughs, and I wonder if she always laughs that same way at this exact point in the script. ‘I’ll soon show you how to cook a main course, sauce and all, but let’s move straight to the best part: ice cream!’ Two-thirds of the women mumble in acknowledgement.

‘Bet she’d love it!’ I tell the man, after finishing my lemonade. ‘Make her life a whole lot easier.’

‘Wouldn’t in the slightest.’

‘Really? Machine like this? Haven’t you been watching? It prepares and cooks anything you can think of. Bakes bread and even makes cocktails. It’s incredible.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t like it. I was curious but it’s too impersonal. It removes the connection with food, it—’

The machine starts up again, zapping frozen fruit into a pulp. Dee-doo-daa.

‘It takes the fun out of cooking,’ he finishes. ‘I’d never put a soulless thing like that in the kitchen.’

‘But maybe she’d want one. Buy it for her.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Of course you could.’

‘No, I literally couldn’t. I have no income. I mean, since I’m entirely in charge of the cooking, I could ask her to buy it for me, but as I said, I prefer my knives, pots and pans. In fact, I think I’ve seen enough. I should get going if I’m to prepare a proper dinner before she gets back from her business trip. Soufflés don’t make themselves, you know, and a proper Bourguignon takes several hours on a low heat.’

By EM Vireo

Drop 155: Kids

park scene‘Have any kids?’

‘Kids?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sure do.’ She’s in her forties but smiles the way pretty girls smile at handsome dogs unexpectedly passing them on the sidewalk. ‘Just the one. She’s three.’

‘Nice,’ I say. ‘I have two. A girl and a boy. Six and nine.’

‘Great.’

‘Yeah. The boy, Scotty, is getting so old already. We adopted him when he was barely one.’

‘Adopted! You don’t say. That’s wonderful!’

‘Yeah. He’s naughty, clumsy, greedy, messy and kind of chubby but we love him to pieces.’

‘Know what? Our Mandy is adopted too.’

‘Really! Wow, what are the chances?’

‘Yup. Saw her on a trip to Puerto Rico and just fell in love with her. Started the paperwork right then and there. Got her all her shots and documentation and made arrangements to get her back over here to live with us for good.’

‘That’s so great, so special!’

‘She was timid at first but she’s really coming into her own. She’s a real sweetheart, but by God is she food obsessed!’

‘It’s to be expected though, isn’t it? Our girl, Bella, is too. She’ll do anything for a piece of cheese. But isn’t it just so satisfying to watch them grow?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Got a picture?’

‘I sure do.’ She whips out her phone. ‘Here. That’s my Mandy. Cutest little monster in the world!’

I take the phone and look, tilting my head. ‘Say, that’s a dog.’

‘Sure is.’

‘You’re showing me a picture of your dog?’

‘I sure am. She’s a border collie mix.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned. Here, look at my two babies.’ I pull up a pic.

She licks her lips while she looks. ‘You’re kidding me!’

‘Yeah, Scotty is obviously a Scotty, and Bella is some kind of terrier mix.’

‘Oh they’re gorgeous.’

‘So is Mandy. We should organize a play date.’

‘Definitely!’

By EM Vireo

Drop #154: Forex

forex‘I’m so happy, I did well on the Forex market today.’

‘Awesome!’

‘Yeah, I’ve been playing around and I finally made some real cash.’

‘Great, how much?’

‘4K.’

‘USD! Wow, that’s pretty good.’

‘Damn straight!’

‘So you can buy the next round.’

‘With pleasure. Yeah, I’ve been applying these techniques I read about and it finally paid off.’

‘Sweet. Seems a good deal. You ever lose any money before making some?’

‘Sure.’

‘Oh yeah? How much?’

‘Around 23K.’

‘USD? Know what? Beers are on me.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop 153: Napkin

orchidThis post is not suitable for children. You have been warned.

‘It’s kind of refreshing,’ she said, looking at him across the table and smiling softly, ‘to be out with a nice guy for a change—you are a nice guy, right? I mean, it’s our third time out and you haven’t made a move beyond that one short and careful kiss. You haven’t grabbed me, made any crass comments, acted macho, even stared openly at my breasts.’

‘Because I respect people, and women especially.’

‘I see that.’

‘And yes, I am a nice guy, in terms of: I would never prey on insecurities, coerce or manipulate a girl into doing anything, or make it seem like she has no option, or is flawed if she doesn’t, or use alcohol or promises to seduce her; and sure, I only kissed you that once, and gently, and I haven’t tried to sleep with you, and I’ll always value a woman’s wishes and comfort as I try to do with all people.’

‘Yes, that’s clear.’

‘But, if I may speak frankly?’

‘Of course.’

‘In truth, my urges are not so polite; I just manage them skillfully. For instance, if I knew for sure you’d want it, I’d be under the table in an instant, teasing your panties aside and gobbling up your pussy as if it were an impossibly ripe mango, then ripping them and diving so deep down that snatch I’d almost drown. Yes, if I had a green light, I’d be under this table tonguing your asshole till it shone like a star, wearing you like a warm winter hat before filling you up with my footlong sub. Of course, I always put subject above object, even though, if you gave the word, I’d straight up beast on your delicious pink, plain revel in that stank. I’d snort coke off your clit, film it all so I could jerk off to it later, record your squeals and use them as the ringer for my phone—the higher ones to alert me of a WhatsApp message. I will always respect the person first and foremost, even if I want to deconstruct her into options, objects, holes to abuse. Always! But damn, girl, I’m less man than epic throbbing cock for you by now!’

She was silent.

‘Forgive me, have I shocked you?’ He looked at her meekly and topped up her wine. ‘Have you nothing to say?’

‘Oh, sorry, yes,’ she said, adjusting herself slightly on her chair. ‘It’s just that I dropped my napkin under the table and was wondering if you’d be a gentleman and get it for me.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop #152: Brunch

sesame balls‘Oh my goodness,’ he said, scratching his beard, ‘it was incredible! They had all different kinds of potatoes, even blue ones, done all different kinds of ways! Roasted, mashed, fried with truffle salt, and even turned into pancakes with sour cream, salmon and caviar on top—caviar! Why thank you comrade! Then there was two wooden boards big as a submarines with cheeses from all over the world—I’m talking French, Dutch, English. There was one, I forget the name, from some special region in the Italian Alps, and another that was kept in a cave for more than a year like some prisoner of war. There was goat and sheep cheese, blue and flavored cheese, and some kind of cheese that oozed out onto the board like demon semen—I’m telling ya! And they had must have been twenty kinds of breads and rolls and loaves. And international! Let me tell you: there was an Italian station where you could choose your noodles and sauce to be cooked right in front of you any way you wanted, a Chinese one with endless dim sums in bamboo steamers and served on fancy porcelain spoons, a Japanese station with sushis and whatnot, and an Indian station with who knows how many kinds of curries, and flatbreads cooked in clay ovens. There was a full carvery with ham and brisket and beef–and oh my lord, you should have seen the seafood—what they called the raw bar. I’m talking crab claws the size of human arms, and ruby red prawns, and rainbow colored crawfish staring up at you, and all different shapes and sizes of shrimp and mussels and clams and oysters, all on ice and ripe for the plucking! They even had lobster already cooked and cracked open so alls you had to do was scoop out the sweet as syrup flesh and guzzle it up! Just phenomenal, and with all the French Champagne you could drink too, mind you, and thank you very much! And oh my word, I haven’t even mentioned the best thing! They had a fountain made of—get this!–chocolate! Liquid chocolate, just like Wally Wonka himself had in his factory. Almost stripped to my boxers and took a dip myself is what I almost did.’

‘Swell,’ she said, getting up. ‘Be right back. I just have to get something from the kitchen.’

Gary was sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Hey there, Jane,’ he said, smiling the way he does: all squint, no lip.

‘Hey. So, last night with visitors, right?’

‘Yup. They’re off in the morning.’

‘Good brunch?’

‘Eh. Nothing too special. Same as any decent hotel on any Sunday anywhere in the city.’

‘I hear you.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop 151: Infidelity

A‘He kept saying how sorry he was, but what does that help now, after the fact?’

‘Does no good at all, honey.’

‘Said he just couldn’t help himself,’

‘Typical!’

‘That I was always at work and it was just too tempting!’

‘Bastard!’

‘Not just one, hey, but five. Five!’

‘I’m so sorry, sweetie. You must feel awful.’

‘I feel so, so, cheated. What he did, it’s just wrong.’

‘I know, love. I’d hate if my Bernie did something like that to me.’

‘And the lying! He only came clean last night.’

‘It’s just terrible.’

‘He took our thing—our special thing, and ruined it—and for what? Greed. Selfishness. Instant gratification.’

‘Just terrible.’

‘Unforgivable, is what it is.’

‘What a rat.’

‘I know.’

‘And Sense8 is such a good show, so gripping. I can’t believe he watched all five final episodes of season one without you.’

‘I know. I’m devastated!’

*please feel free to exchange Sense8 with Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, Orphan Black, Ray Donovan, or whatever floats your insatiable boat, or reach back and go with Lost, Six Feet Under, or Deadwood.

By E.M. Vireo

150 and Counting

leaf dropletsI just posted my 150th Drop.  When I started writing these little guys three years ago, I didn’t know how long I’d carry on.  I was too ambitious at first, trying to post them too often, then lost interest and motivation for a while, before picking up again and finding a good rhythm in posting one every week or two.  I had to remember that as well as being productive, and creating something worth reading, this project, this blog, is supposed to be fun too.  And it has been.  And I’ll keep doing it for the foreseeable future since the ideas don’t seem to be running out.

Anyway, it’s cool to see people all over the world reading them, and always rewarding when they mention one or say they enjoyed one in particular.  OK, I’ll stop blabbing now.  I’ll just link a selection from the last 50 Drops posted below.  See what you missed, or read them again.

Till next time, with love and an ongoing stream of very short fiction,

E.M.

116: Lunch

119: Cup of Tea

124: Leopard

106: Moth

138: CAB

140: Cough

143: Pressure

147: Invitation

 

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