Category Archives: Writer/Creator

THE PICKUP LINE

Great short story which will give your imagination a wild run on life.

Passion's Invocation

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Amanda sat on a stool, in a hotel bar that reminded her of her youth. She had gone to places like this voluntarily when she was in her late teens and early twenties. She was scarcely twenty nine now, but that seemed like an eternity ago. She was not necessarily in this meat market voluntarily tonight.

This evening, she had run from her home after finding Joel with her best friend, in the bed they had shared for twelve years. She was unbearably wounded and unbelievably angry. The sight of her naked boyfriend fucking Angie with a driving need he had never shown her, made her stomach pitch.

She had stood there transfixed at the sight of Angie moaning with Joel’s every powerful thrust. Angie’s breasts heaved in rhythm with her moans and gasps. She was obviously in the throes of an ecstasy that Amanda envied. They were so lost…

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Nicki

I had spent the night at Nicki’s last night over in Santa Monica just off Ocean and Pico.  Just off the walk, Ocean walk, the Pacific Park where you find all those amusement rides on the pier.  The place is the bomb.  You meet all sorts of bizarre freaky locals and street hustlers.  All out for a good time while trying to make a buck.  Usually on Saturday’s Nicki likes to drag me out to the beach on romantic walks, she calls them.   Nicki owns  a condo not far from the pier we can walk there from her place.  We had performed our usual thing, smoke a fatty and order a pizza.

            Nicki

1516            Nicki’s one of the hottest, sexiest  Southern   California women I know.  Every time we meet up with Juanita that smoke goes straight between those tight sexy thighs of hers every time.  Nicki will start nibbling on my ears to get us both started up. Her tongue is like a car key, starts me up every time, no matter what.

Ever since the first time we got our hands on a blunt together, she has always come loose and wants to get nasty together.  Just can’t explain it, we have known each other all our lives. Nick and I are cousins, 1st cousins possibly that’s why they call us kissing cousin’s.

Last night ended in the usual way, me pop-n Nicki  doggie-style, her with my sticky goo all over those gorgeous ta-ta’s of hers and us giggling the night away about anything that comes to mind, with us completely out of breath, like we had just ran a marathon together.

Peek A Boo
Peek A Boo Nicki

It’s amazing Nicki hasn’t burnt one in the oven, with this late night romance affair between us.   This affair has gone on for way too many years and it is surprising no one in our family has caught on to us.   I think some times the two of us really could careless if anyone were to find out about our secret love affair together.  While in the heat of our moments together we will softly speak to each other about someone in the family finding out, but that doesn’t slow us down, in fact it’s more of a turn on for us.

I started my day off just like all the rest, two cups of coffee, four doughnuts and half a pack of smokes.   I had just left Nicki’s headed up the 405 to the valley where my shop is located.   Traffic on the 405 was nuts, looky loo’s slowing down to check out a fender bender going the opposite direction. Cars were jump-n lanes along with the usual , hey everybody, let’s just stop right here and form a parking lot on the 405.

As I am driving and dealing out my typical So. Cal. screw you too buddy driving.   My phone rang, I thought who the hell is this at 7 in the morning.   When I picked up the phone it didn’t take long to figure out my phone had somehow managed to let some babbling woman from the hills (Beverly Hills) to get through to my ear.   I thought to myself you basket case.   She just kept jaw jacking about something, it was difficult to understand, just what she was trying to tell me.   I had no clue.   It was getting difficult to concentrate on my surroundings listening to this babbling woman with a lit smoke in my mouth and a hot cup of coffee about to spill every where.

Soon I started to figure out just what she was trying to explain to me.   The shower upstairs was leaking and flooding her fancy living room furniture her and her husband had just bought last week.

She gave the address with some babbling on directions about where to turn and what buildings to look for.  I could have cared less, I knew where I was going all that gab didn’t make sense to me.

While I am trying to concentrate on my driving, I glanced around my front seat for something to write on.   I noticed something on top of the dashboard close by the passenger side of the van.

Watching traffic, I leaned over the dashboard as much and far as I could reach without loosing control of  my van.  With a smoke in my mouth, I grabbed yesterday’s hamburger wrapper, tore a piece off and scribbled down the address.  When I wrote her address down I put a 6, instead of a 9, at the end of her address numbers.

Finally I over took the conversation saying: ” yes ma’am, I can be there in 30 or 45 minutes.”

What I didn’t tell her was, that leak of yours maybe important to you, but I am making a convenience store stop first, before anything ruins my day at your house.

The Shed (part 2)

Read The Shed and
The Shed part 2

The Loc- R

   Full of excitement , I am overwhelmed by a strange British man’s voice from inside my shed.  Within an instant I began to see a cat slowly walk out from behind this box.  It emerges from the oval-shaped cut out that appears to be a door way.

Then I noticed he was walking on his two hind legs and dressed as a classic British or Irish man.  He appeared to have just attended the horse track on Derby Day.

This cat had on a black merino wool morning coat, with a double-breasted dove-gray waist coat that I would refer to as a British style Cummberbun.   Amazingly he looked great sporting a black wool Victorian Mad Hatter style top hat.   The type I had only ever seen a magician wear while on stage performing.

I noticed he was wearing one spectacle eye-glass piece for his left eye while holding in…

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The Shed (part 2)

   Full of excitement , I am overwhelmed by a strange British man’s voice from inside my shed.  Within an instant I began to see a cat slowly walk out from behind this box.  It emerges from the oval-shaped cutout that appears to be a doorway.

Then I noticed he was walking on his two hind legs and dressed as a classic British or Irish man.  He appeared to have just attended the horse track on Derby Day.

This cat had on a black merino wool morning coat, with a double-breasted dove-gray waistcoat that I would refer to as a British style Cummberbun.   Amazingly, he looked great sporting a black wool Victorian Mad Hatter style top hat.   The type I had only ever seen magicians wear while on stage performing.

I noticed he was wearing a single spectacle eyeglass piece for his left eye while holding in his right paw a classical looking wooden Cain to keep himself upright.   Why a cat needs a Cain is beyond me.

What I really thought was amazing where the Irish knee-high tweed golfing knickers he had on to match his wool suit.

If you were to ask me, Do cats smoke tobacco ?

I might say no, but this cat does.  He was smoking an old vintage gentlemen’s black wooden tobacco pipe.  The aroma really wasn’t that bad, it smelled like cherry.

As he rounds the front of the box I heard him say with a smile:

” I say  O’ chap , what’s the problem”

” What’s the problem “

As I am in shock with a panic sound in my voice.

” The problem is I am seeing a walking, talking cat “

“That’s the problem”  I told him.

“No worries, Governor ”  In a cheerful voice he says.

” I am Oliver Stanley Biggles-Worth the 6th.”

I looked at him strangely and asked:

” The sixth” ?

” Yes the 6th kitten from the litter of  Lady Bennington Spoiled Cat “

He proudly announced.

” Me Father is Lord Tom Bennington Cat “

He tells me.

I just shook my head in amazement.
Continue reading The Shed (part 2)

Imagination

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From the imagination of Davy Jones comes fictional stories about romance from the mind of some strange comical characters.

Read how they met Davy Jones and interact with him through his daily life.

We hope you enjoy these pieces of literature, art collected then stored inside

The Loc – R

THE SHED

1665            Mr. Biggles – Worth

       An outstanding friend of mine.   Whom I have known for many years now. I met  Mr. Biggles – Worth one day while mowing my backyard.   There’s an old shed toward the back corner of the yard.  Where years ago as children we would play and could have ourselves a place outside where as kids we all could hide out from our parents.    This shed was our hangout spot where me, my sister Doreen and our friends would torment one another while playing and the shed just became a meeting place for all us kids.  This old play house storage shed holds many memories for myself.

     One hot summer day I was cutting my tall backyard grass with the mower.  When needing to get out of the hot summer time sun.   I went into the play house to get something, what I don’t remember.   As I am standing at the doorway searching and basically just browsing around to get out of the blistering heat.   I walked over toward the back of the play house, now converted into a shed, to turn on the air conditioner at the far back window.

     As I am making my way toward the back of this shed.  I stumbled over a pile of  yard tools and nearly tripped onto a big card board box that I didn’t realize I had put into the play house.  In fact I know I didn’t put that there, yet it still looked like it had been there for years.  This large box, the type you might get from an appliance store where a medium sized freezer could be shipped in.

       After turning on the window air conditioner. I walked over to open the box and take a look inside to see what might be insided.   I noticed the top of the box was sealed with gray duct tape.   I thought to myself, while wiping the sweat off the top of my head with this dirty old rag which I had found just before starting to mow my grass.  I realized that I don’t have any duct tape around here.  I knew I had ran out about six months ago.  Last time I recalled having any duct tape was when my cousin Nicki, and her bratty kids, had stopped by and made an unannounced visit while I’m getting out of the shower.

     I leaned over this heavy looking card board box. searching the back and around the sides in amazement as to how this monstrosity of an object managed to end up inside my play house shed.

At first I thought, well maybe Nicki’s kids must have brought this card board box inside from somewhere else like down the back alley way which runs behind my house.   Where everyone in my neighborhood places out their trash on Sundays to be picked up on Mondays by the trash men.

    While searching around the area of this box.  I noticed on the backside where someone had created a real nice semi oval shaped cut out opening on the back hidden side of the box.

The opening reminded me of an old doorway my grandmother once had at her house years ago which was an entrance way into her hallway from the parlor that eventually became known as the T.V. room.

   Curiously, I started to remove the duct tape from the top of the box to figure out just what was inside.   After tearing and removing the first layer of gray sticky duct tape from around the sides and across the top this tape, made a loud noise with a ripping effect when I removed the tape.

       Then in a quick sudden moment not expecting any sort of sound.  From inside this card board box,   I am spooked to by an old British mans voice.   I heard him say to me:

         ” I say ole Chap. What’s the meaning of this.  Don’t take me roof apart, I say.”

       As I heard him refer to me as:  ” Governor. “

       I jumped back with excitement my heart beating and wanting to pound out of my chest. Instantly I thought a homeless man had slipped into the play house during a rainy storm and began squatting a home from my shed.

      Quickly stumbling backwards all while tripping over that same pile of yard tools and junk on the floor.    I did my best to stumble out the front door of the shed. Picking up a broken shovel handle I raised back as if to protect myself from an armed burglar.

      Being scarred with fright I hollered out:  ” Hey you, come out of there.  Right now, before I call the police.”

      I heard the voice inside say in return:   ” Now  hear this my good fellow.  No need in fetching the Bobbies.   It’s just me  Mr.  Oliver Stanley  Biggles-Worth. the 6th  at your service. “

      Again he referred to me as: ” Governor. ”    I  am thinking to myself this guy must think my name is Governor or he thinks I am the Governor of the state.   I just couldn’t quite figure out.