Helen Ashley of Spokane, Washington, was randomly chosen last week’s $25 winner with the correct answer to the question: How old was Bill’s youngest son? Ans: Sixteen.
I’d made the Visalia run three times, and things were moving along real cozy-like with Cindy. Not too cozy … but cozy.
“I have an idea,” I said to her on the phone. “Drop your kids off with Daddy, and you and I will spend the weekend at my place off Mulholland Dr. Go to the beach and hang out.”
Two seconds after she arrived, she left a trail of her things strewn throughout the house—shoes, books, a purse, a soda container, three pieces of luggage, her Walkman and a coat.
The stream ended in a bathroom where she covered the entire countertop with the contents of her makeup bag.
My house now looked like her car. Minus the fries and hamburger wrappers.
I plopped onto the made-up sofa bed in the den. “This is yours,” I said. “Nice and comfy.”
I pretended not to notice the squeaky springs.
It wasn’t exactly in mint condition. One of those beds where if you fell asleep on the edge, you’d wake up in the middle. It also had cigarette burns on the arms. That’s why I tried building it up a little.
“It doesn’t look comfy,” she said, and disappeared down the hall.
I trotted after her. “You said you wanted your own bedroom.”
“I do. This one. Wow! You weren’t kidding about the view.”
I put my arm around her waist. “You can see across the whole Valley.” We stepped onto the balcony. I pointed. “That’s Universal City.”
I kissed her peach-scented neck and whispered in her ear, “Let’s settle the sleeping arrangements.”
“They’ve been settled. You get the den.”
“Hold on,” I objected, taken aback. “This bed’s a king, so let’s compromise. We each get a side.”
She thought a minute. “Okay, but with our clothes on.”
“I can’t sleep in clothes.”
“Then sleep on squeaky in the other room.”
“How about if I keep my underwear on?”
She looked at me suspiciously. “Only if you promise to stay on your own side.”
I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Absolutely.”
Later, she came out of the bathroom wearing a Lakers basketball T-shirt hanging just above her knees.
I pulled down the covers on her side. “Hope you’re wearing underwear.”
She giggled and hopped into bed. “You’ll never know.”
I lit candles and joined her under the covers.
Her side had the view, so I risked scooting over. I put my arm around her. “We’ll just snuggle and look at the city lights.”
We soon got to horsing around. Tickling, kissing—nothing heavy duty.
I propped myself over her body and gazed into her twinkling blue eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” I said. “Can I tell you something?”
She smiled suspiciously. “What?”
“I’d really love to see your breasts. Just a peek.”
“Noo.” She whacked my shoulder and laughed.
“Okay, we’ll hug instead. Skin to skin. No peeking.”
After my pleading, she finally agreed.
“Remember,” she said, “no peeking.”
I stared into her eyes while she pulled up her shirt and lowered my chest onto her warm breasts.
“Okay,” she said, after about ten seconds. “Down, boy.”
I raised up and again looked into her eyes.
“You peeked!” she burst, laughing and clobbering me again.
“I swear to God, I didn’t.” And I hadn’t … not then.
Next Week: Cindy Does Malibu
IF YOU’RE ENJOYING these goofy blogs, share them with friends (or, heck, anybody). There’s a new one each week (until I run out of drugs, girlfriends, and wives.)
YOU ALSO MIGHT LIKE MY BOOKS: billbrier.com/books/
THE DEVIL ORDERS TAKEOUT — Award-winning thriller (that Scooby loved).
(Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, BAM, iBooks, Kobo, Google Play, Audible)
THE KILLER WHO HATED SOUP — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby really loved).
(Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Kobo, Google Play, Smashwords, Audible)
THE KILLER WHO WASN’T THERE — Award-winning mystery (that Scooby’s still reading).
(Now available! Buy on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, BAM)
Linda Moffitt saysMarch 15, 2018 at 8:39 pm
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