After screaming Flexi's name multiple times and receiving no response, the tired man, being no longer tired, springs into action. He dashes around the table, battling his way through the remnants of the daffodil soaked misty cloud in order to search for Flexi's legendary boudoir.
In spite of the fact that he's never seen her boudoir in all of the years they've been together, he's feeling pretty confident, perhaps overly so, about finding it. After all, how hard could it be to find a door handle that would lead to the legendary boudoir?
Apparently, very hard, as for the next fifteen minutes he scoured his office with an actual magnifying glass looking for anything, and we mean anything, that remotely resembled a door handle, but came up emptier than the platitudes offered by an anti-law enforcement Democrat.
"Good Lord, what am I gonna do? If she comes out wearing something that will make me go mad with lust, or even worse, make my readers go mad with lust, it will be the end of me! I'm too old to be writing erotica!"
The man sat back down at his desk and began to weep in despair. Not so much for the fact that Flexi might embarrass him with her choice of clothing, for that was something he was long used to, but for the fact that he just complained about writing in a particular genre that he spent years denying what the bulk of his stories were.
His pity weeping was rudely interrupted by another blast of daffodil scented smoke erupting from the floor.
"Of course it would be from the floor," he said while inserting a Tom Swifty adverb.
When the smoke cleared enough for him to see, his jaw dropped remarkably very little to the ground. Flexi was dressed like one of his characters from his current story: half army fatigues, a belt created from insects, a red cherry tube top that accentuated.....everything and her hair done up in a whip braid. With certain old fashioned toiletries items inserted.
Upon closer examination, he noticed a few unusual...designs drawn on her face.
"Good Lord Flexi, you cannot wear such revealing and dangerous clothing around here. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that my little man with the big cajones needed some visual...aids to help his creativity in action, so what better way to inspire my little man," she paused to pinch his chubby little cheeks. "writing juices. Besides, what's there not to like about what you see?"
The tired man suddenly felt very tired again, and sat back down on his tired table. He moved his tired paper to the side, took a tired sip from his water and performed a not-so-tired face-plant to the table. And kept it there.
Flexi, deciding to have just a little bit of fun with her little man, laid her voluptuous body across the table and started to purr seductively in his ear. The tired man raised his head, stared hard into her lusciously deep hazel eyes, and said....
Tune in next week for part the third of "Dad's Muse Has Come Back".
{c} 2022 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved
She purrs? Now I'm waiting for the line 'You made a woman meow?'
ReplyDeleteGood one! :D
DeleteI don't think I've ever written a 100% human woman. Always a hybrid of some kind.