A Girl’s Luncheon
Posted in site promotion, tagged beautiful dreams, Carol Anne Bond Writer.
This is Auntie Carol and I must simply tell you of the excellent luncheon my new beau, Herman Sherman prepared for me and my most beloved Lady Lynda. For forty-three years I have followed God’s commandments, that is except for the one, “Go forth and multiply.” ALors, darlings nobody’s ,perfect. and I’ll find a reason to go on living somehow. How long have I waited for my prince/princess to come along. Before Herman or as he sometimes calls himself, Emma Enigma, I had given up hope and was going to dedicate my life to “good works” like the late Mother Therese. God bless her soul. That is not to say I could carry it that far. But close.
For those of you who have not followed our meanderings Herman Sherman & Emma Enigma, are two parts of the same person, a hermaphrodite I fell in love with. So much do I love hin/her I would lay down my very life for him. Most days Herman, the man courts me: other days I have the best female companion, a girl could want with the exception of Lady Lynda, my dear friend. More about Herman. He is gorgeous, simply divine with his violet, thick lashed eyes and flowing blue black long hair. A face a mother would die for and any young girl would swoon for like the old fashioned Errol Flynn or Lawrence Olivier, a dark handsomeness and beautiful as a girl or “Emma”. I have two, two mints in one, (a littte bon mot for you.) Sometimes I am tres comique. Innitially Lady Lynda had reservations saying he didn’t know whether he was coming or going and I assured her he was mentally stable though being two people. He’d have to be sane to be a licensed sex thearpist with a degree in abnormal psych from Penn. I have an interest in abnormal psych, and it kinds of turns me on for some reason. Don’t get me wrong I wouldn’t hurt a soul, but it’s just nice to have someone to talk with me about abnormal psychology, Scarcely human. I just have the gut level feeling I could have cured them with some good Christian virtues, home cooking, and the love of a good woman, moi. Oh, well water under the bridge. Now I have Herman/Emma.
Emma, dressed in an orange leather mini-skirt and diaphonous, see through blouse with black lace bra on her small breasts looked every bit the high fashion model. She was almost as beautiful as The Black Orchid but not quite. Oh, well, Quelle Domage.
Anyway, Emma cooked the entire meal as only a Cordon Bleu chef could. Pheasant under glass with wild rice stuffing and herbs, artichoke hearts in lime and olive oil, parslied potatoes, and tomato aspic (not my favorite.) She served us cabernet from France and we ate little dainty bite sized apple and cherry pies, baked by her own loving hands for desert. As she walked like a lioness from room to room with infinite grace she trailed behind the essence of Shalimar. I shan’t tell you what happened when we were alone in our bedroom later but I will say I am still pristine and saving myself for the wedding bed. Shall you guess whom I mean?
For all of Lady Lynda’s fears that I was dating a mad man, he/she dispelled all doubt, when he played our rhyming game, and fixed Lady Lynda with her most fetching smile.
some of our bon mots were: stalion eating a scallion, sublime lime, occasion for a Caucasion & the smile that stretched a mile. A main who can rhyme can commit no crime.
Oh, believe me we all had further witticisms too numerous to mention. We were a clever bunch. Then we discussed our favorite artists and writers. Names like Boticelli, Bosch, Breugel, La Treck, Van Gogh and others floated through the cool spring air like aerie ghosts. When it came to Nietche, we all agreed, dare I say, that he was an insufferable bastard and a totally evil. man. For, it is my contention that the world is run by Nietche, and that is not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Alors! and heavens no!
But the long and the short of it is that my best friend now approved of my beau, and wished us well. I would have to do the same for Seymour Toze though I considered him a pervert. Well, nobody’s perfect, least of all, moi. Sherman carried me up the stairs to the bedroom as I was somewhat tipsey and I had beautiful dreams. Just beautiful. I was Cinderella at last.
CAROL ANN-writer of Poems of Thunder (Noir & Whimsy) @ BN.com, Amazon.com & publisheamerica.com
Numerous other books- need agents and’or publishers contact thru facebook, poetry, humor historical drma