Work In Progress

A Short Bit about Egyptian Statues and the Insanity of Passion

Note: Another snippet from the work-in-progress for NaNoWriMo, wherein our heroine, Tiffany, and her potential international lover, Aegean, are navigating the tantalizing but awkward final stage of deciding whether or not to make whoopee. To set things properly, we open with our lusty duo seated in a massive room full of memorabilia from Tiffany’s questionable career as a pop music star, including several look-alike mannequins. Just go with it…

 

His smile turned into a slight leer, in a sexy way, not that disturbing leer worn by gas station attendants in small towns named Hornbuckle Holler.

I moistened my lips and made my eyes as sultry as possible, a trick I had mastered in the tenth grade when I had been determined to be cast as the lead in all school plays that year, unaware that the male drama teacher only had eyes for Romeo.

He leered with more eroticism.

I moistened with more intensity.

The damn hidden door flew open again and out trotted the old manservant, beelining toward our little table. He proffered a tray as if presenting the Ark of the Covenant. “Your beverages, Monsieur et Madame. I took the privilege of including a small bowl of hand-picked olives along with some artisanal cheese, courtesy of a goat named Umberto, naying proudly somewhere in the Swiss Alps. Do either of you require anything else?”

Aegean suddenly leapt out of his chair, pulled me out of mine, threw his muscular arms around me, and then proceeded to use his warm lips and tongue to heat up my own, urgent and aggressive. His hands were everywhere and his body was so strong and I could barely breathe, but the sensations were so exquisite that it would surely be a lovely way to asphyxiate.

Several minutes or hours later, Aegean pulled his head back with an audible pop. “I apologize. I lose the control.”

Was he kidding? “Oh, honey, you can lose that kind of control anytime you want. Where the hell is the bed in this place?”

Someone cleared his throat. We both turned our heads to find the manservant still standing there, still holding the Ark. Aegean made a dismissive motion with his hand. (I already missed it not being on my body.) “Please leave tray and go, Jeeves. Thank you.”

Jeeves practically hurled the tray at the little table and ran like the wind, with nary a sound or a hint of hesitation. The hidden door banged this time, none of that discreet clicking. Aegean looked back at me, his eyes so beautifully close. “Come.”

“I just about did.”

He smiled, and then we were off, tromping through the huge room, giggling and squealing. We finally rounded a scale-model of one of the Abu Simbel temples (I had posed in front of such for the cover art on one of my singles, “Walk Like an Encryption”) and came upon a huge, lavish bed. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was still a bit startled to see that I was already in it, wearing the chaste but slinky negligee I had sported for the racy B-side cut of the single, “Momma’s Got a Brand New Bush”.

I nodded at myself. “She’s not staying, is she? I sure hope that’s not part of your thing.”

Aegean laughed and shook his head, motioning for me to take a seat in a nearby embroidered chair that looked like something Marie Antionette would lounge in before getting confused about the availability of bread on the open market. I perched and watched as Aegean grabbed up the mannequin and dragged it off the bed. (It was a bit odd seeing myself treated that way, especially when the head banged on the floor a few times.) He disappeared behind a lovely Japanese screen, rummaged around a bit, and reappeared, holding out the negligee. “But please, wear this?”

Hell, yeah. “I would be delighted.” And even more stimulated. Part of the fun was that he clearly wanted to see me in it, but I must confess that I also had a lingering sex dream from the Egyptian photo shoot. There had been a certain male model, most assuredly straight, who had caught my eye but I never managed to catch his, no matter how provocatively I gyrated whilst straddling the giant stone crotch of one of the Ramses the Great statues. (I had an abrasion for a week, and it was another week before I quit finding grains of sand in unexpected places.)

I strutted up to Aegean and plucked the racy naughtiness out of his hand. (It would be generous to say the whole outfit weighed two ounces.) “Is there somewhere I can change? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the least bit modest, just ask any of the former employees who are suing me. But I want to make sure the bow is tied just right on your present.”

He smirked as he reached out and gently turned me to the right, so that I was facing a light-blue door with “Powder Room” stenciled on the surface in Copperplate Gothic. “Happy wrapping,” he whispered in my ear. Then he gave me a slight push. Using his hips. It was all I could do not to run the short distance and slam the door, breathing heavily.

Once inside, I quickly repurposed my appearance, in that amazingly-quick manner that one can only learn whilst doing rapid-fire costume changes on a world concert tour where all the queens in the audience expect you to do at least 25 of them per show. I then paused to study myself in the ornate mirror. I still looked quite fetching, but I wasn’t quite as dewy as I had been the first time I wore this little number. The edges weren’t as sharp and the firm bits more yielding, and you could see my true age in the neck, one always can when work hasn’t been done. Time does indeed steal bits of you during the night. But I was content with myself, and I had few regrets, and that made things right as rain.

I threw the door open but stayed off to the side. “Announce me,” I hollered.

Aegean, somewhere near. “What? That’s not what I want to do to you.”

“Just do it. It’s a concert and I’m about to take the stage.”

He giggled. “Ladies and gentleman, I am of pleasure to say La Tiffania is here to make us sing. And show her boobies.”

I sighed. Not the best. But that would have to do. I strutted out the door.

 

Story behind the photo: A random snap of a deck and stairs at a cabin in Broken Bow, Oklahoma. I just like how the intrusion of the sunlight creates a different perspective, something that happens on a much grander scale at the Abu Simbel temples, which you can read more about here

 

24 replies »

  1. I lost control of my inner snort when we chanced upon proud Umberto …. it was plane sailing from their and you have satisfied my neighbours that they have every right to adopt the lemon face this morning 🐐 🍋 Bravo …. you really are tantalizing me with these teases – your WIP has me whipped into a froth of anticipation 😉

    Liked by 2 people

  2. So the NIGHT is the culprit! I’d been blaming TIME all along for my now less than firm ‘firm bits’ and obligatory turkey wattle (which is not that pronounced, not yet, but give it a decade or two and I’ll have to hide out near Thanksgiving time or wear scarves, artfully placed so my chin/neck is not visible). Tell us…is Tiffany satisfied in the end (no pun intended) and does Umberto live up to his promise? Sorry, but I had to ask. I watched a surprisingly good murder mystery last night…surprising because the cast featured Keanu Reeves (no fault with him, save he is suffering from the chin/neck melding that I thought most stars were able to avoid via extensive plastic surgery), Renee Zellweger (and I am still trying to figure out what they did to HER, because time and/or the night has clearly been frolicking about her face and neck and she looked like a horse (in the face) who had sucked on a particularly sour lemon..made sense after the plot got going because she HAD) and worst of all James Belushi (whom I do not admire..famous dead brother or not). James and Renee are conjoined in wedded un-bliss and the martial connubial relations are enough to dampen the ardor of ten Tiffanies/Umbertos. A lot of unnecessary yelling and grunting is the most I’m going to say about THAT, because I’m still recovering from it. Your own tasteful descriptions of frolics to be enjoyed was much more tantalizing and perhaps you should go to Hollywood and offer your talents as script writer. Just sayin’.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh my. There are so many juicy tidbits to seize upon in your comment that I am simply agog on where to begin. The immediate reactionary go-to with this is to wonder aloud what movie you might be speaking of, but that’s an easy out and I dare not pursue such as it would risk damage to my cleverly unclever attempts at being worldly and wise. (We all have our easily-deflated internet personas, carefully cultivated to make us what we aren’t. Such is the world we now live in.) But at the end of the day, isn’t really all about who has sucked hardest on the lemon without giving in to the sour face? If you give yourself permission to explore without condition, what a wonderful world it can be…

      The above doesn’t actually make any sense, and I take full responsibility for that…

      Like

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