So it’s a new year. I don’t put much in new years and here in my family we don’t’ do anything for New Year’s eve. But here we are. It doesn’t feel much different from last year. Covid is still here and currently raging. Our leaders on the left are still as stupid and dishonest as they were last year, maybe more so. We are still not getting the truth about Covid. We are still in the downward spiral, ever surrounded by those “leading” us by force of power rather than by wisdom, logic and concern for our well being.
And so it goes.
Still , happy new year to you all. I truly hope that the turn of the year and the upcoming days bring you happiness, fulfillment and peace.
Once again, here, new things to come and new things to explore.
By Peter Weiss
You know, there comes a point where you have to let it all hang out. I don’t know if I’m there yet, but I’m sure feeling like it. So I’m going to go in another direction for awhile.
I’ve written some rants dealing with our wonderful commander in chief who continues to amaze us with how truly wonderful her is—at completely destroying America. These rants will continue. Rants will continue as a whole. What truly does amaze, no kidding, is how one person can be wrong so much of the time and get to be president where he continues to be wrong almost all the time.
Rant for within this piece is that I had an oil delivery the other day and the cost was up one hundred-fifty dollars from the last delivery. That’s a tank a month now for the winter, or six hundred dollars of the stimulus money that we got just for the winter, more like a thousand dollars more for the year if the prices stay where they are, which they won’t since Biden has no brakes and the price will continue to go up. Then electric is up twenty dollars a month or another two hundred and forty of the two thousand, and gas is up twenty five a tank, which is another hundred a month at least. Not to mention food and clothes and staples. That’s twelve hundred and a thousand and two-forty and everything else. Gee, I didn’t really get a stimulus, did I?
Oh well, lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
I’d like to talk some—I don’t know how much—about me and my life.
I don’t for a moment think that my life is special in any way. Quite to the contrary, I’ve always thought of myself as rather ordinary. But then as an ordinary man I get the sense that my feelings might be somewhat representative of a lot of ordinary people’s feelings and I think there’s something important in recognizing and addressing that shared connection.
It should be clear, if it is not already, that I do not ascribe to the subjective me, which is the me being taught nowadays as in my feelings are tantamount to anything and everything else. I feel like a girl today so I’m a girl today.
No. I do not believe in that bullshit. I do not believe I am what I feel. I believe that I have many feelings and that I am a composite of my actions rather than of my feelings.
That which our kids are being taught today is garbage, pure and simple. I learned that about ten years ago when I was covering a class doing the lesson that the teacher had left and a kid said to me that he didn’t want to learn that. He then told me what he wanted to learn.
Well…long story short, a principal heard that kid as he passed by the room and later told me I should have taught the kid what he wanted to learn and if I wasn’t so close to retirement he would write me up for my behavior.
Two plus two equals four, all the time. It’s not relative. And what that kid wanted to learn was also not what needed to be learned at that moment to be part of this society and succeed within it.
Sue me for my beliefs. Call me a domestic terrorist.
More pure bullshit they are shoving down our throats.
Lot s of it these days.
Anyway, in other parts of my writings and especially in my fiction I’ve written about and used for subject matter those things in my life that have affected me most. They are not extraordinary things, only things that are part of me and that have made me who and what I am. They are things that happen to a lot of people.
Someone whose life was extraordinary was my father, Nathan. He was three and a half years a POW in a Nazi prison camp and came back to no services from his country, yet he loved this country to death.
Extraordinary.
To be continued…
By Peter Weiss
We had our first freeze here in the Northeast two days ago. I was keeping the house a little cooler because oil prices are a dollar a gallon more already and will be even higher when it gets really cold. I have a kiddo and wife with some medical issues and the “cooler” is not really good for them. So I’ve raised the heat.
Now it’s a choice between buying certain foods or not because all the food is more expensive too and if you’re on a budget….
I know you all know this and I’m not alone in suffering through the outrageous idiocy our government has become.
Anyway, I could go on this way forever and will be saying more.
I’ve had some medical issues too, actually since the summer. They had gotten worse over the summer and in part that is why I’ve been away from here for awhile. It’s not the only reason. Part of me says that as moronic and anti-American as our leaders in control now are (they are not at all stupid, they just have a different agenda which they are being very successful with) half the country is actually either not interested or not using their mental faculties. Some of that half really believe in humanitarian stuffs, and are just looking at things without analyzing where we are being led overall. Others are just gaming the system and will bleed it dry and them complain about the teat not having any milk.
Those feelings have kind of coupled with the medical issues and kept me away. Sometimes I think: why bother?
That said, coming back, catching up with new Bill Wynn episodes and some new non-fiction. Am also going to post a new Kitchen Story in installments for blog size, this even before I publish the text of the original Kitchen Stories which will come out in book form. So…stay tuned.
I try to remember to think the best of everyone that deserves it. Our leaders, most of them, are not nice people and don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. Most of them are selfish and greedy people masquerading as self-sacrificing crusaders. So as we move forward, try to keep a good thought for those people you can, and try to see our leaders for who and what they are.
By Peter Weiss
“Slow and sweet,” Rosie said.
The night was almost over, one of the slowest they’d had in forever. This was because it was just after Christmas and people were home, not doing much but finishing out their year and making plans for the new year’s celebration. At least that was the way Bill reasoned it.
The night was so slow he could have done the service all by himself. In effect, he pretty much did do it this way since Jimmy G did what Jimmy G did. He spent some time with his aunt, talking, sitting in the chair there napping. He spent some time with Bill, sitting on the make-shift chair he kept near the kitchen, which was really a milk crate. Sometimes when Jimmy sat on that crate Bill remembered sitting out in the hall at Suburban with Bea and Mary and Henry Lee. Jimmy G also took his trips to the main kitchen to hang out with Jimmy Banquet Chef and Victor.
Bill did not mind working alone. Bill did not mind being by himself. Slow as it was and with the drinking they’d all done earlier, it was a long, long day, boring and refusing to end. So he drank espresso from time to time and diet coke when he was thirsty and wanted something cold to drink. He did not eat much although at one point Kalista made him a big Greek salad which he munched on over on Jimmy’s side of the kitchen where the customers could not see him eating. Both Rosie and Edelgarde helped themselves to some of that salad. At this point there was no reason to worry about sharing silverware or food.
They met in the distant staff bathroom. Rosie had already eaten, Jo Ann was already gone and Bill had fed Caesar his usual steak. Jimmy G, because he’d been away most of the night, most of the service, had come in and told Bill to take a nice, long break until they started to clean up. Rosie, with nothing to do, had been hanging by the open serving window/hearth and heard this. She winked at Bill and Bill knew to head out where they would meet.
As always, they’d locked the door behind them. Neither one of them seemed in a hurry, and really neither one of them was. Only trouble was a comfortable space, but both of them were familiar with where they were and made do.
“How slow and how sweet?” Bill asked.
“I get ready just thinking about you and this,” Rosie said. “I’d say do with me what you will, but here’s what I want.”
Standing there, between the stalls and the sinks, right in the middle of the bathroom’s floor, Rosie leaned in and whispered into Bill’s ear. What she said did not shock or surprise him. Her breath caressing his ear was soft and sensual and as she continued whispering, he held her close to him and ran his hands along her back and then down to her backside where, because of the uniform, he could easily reach up under the maid’s skirt.
They kissed standing there, and while he fondled her, she reached between them and caressed him. He was already roused. Good to be young, just a pup he thought sometimes. Feeling him roused roused her more and Rosie closed her eyes and let a soft moan escape.
“And you can cook too,” she said. Then, “Think we’ll be missed?”
“Not really.” Bill reached behind him as they kissed and untied his apron. Then with both hands he took it from him and moved away from her toward the sink counter. He spread the apron out on the counter and made it soft and as comfortable as he could for her.
“Come,” he said. “Slow and sweet.”
By Peter Weiss
Rosie and Edelgarde were both in when Jimmy G, Bill and Kalista returned to The Falstaff Room. The girls, still in their street clothes, were standing by Kalista’s station drinking coffee and eating Greek pastries.
“Good?” Kalista asked. She smiled at them, visibly pleased that they were helping themselves.
“The best,” Edelgarde said. “No one makes these better than you.”
“That’s for shit sure,” Rosie said. She put what she still had in her hands into her mouth and finished it off happily. “How we doing?” she asked Bill and Jimmy G even before she’d swallowed. She sipped her coffee and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“We’re all good,” Bill said. He was already unloading Kalista’s items from the truck. Those things he knew where to put, he put away for her. Anything he wasn’t sure of he put on her counter.
Jimmy G didn’t do anything at first. He went to sit down but just as he was about to plant himself in the chair his aunt, Bill saw, gave him eyes, the evil/critical eyes, and she said something to him in Greek that caused him not to sit. Instead, he got steady on his feet and started helping Bill unload the truck. Bill could see that he clearly did not want to be doing this, but he didn’t say anything.
When they’d unloaded all of Kalista’s items, they pulled the truck closer to the double doors. As Bill passed Rosie, she stuck her tongue out at him and wiggled it a bit. Then she smiled at him and did a little curtsy.
“Nice sweet tongue at the moment,” she said. “A very happy one and a happy tummy too.”
Bill thought to grab his crotch in that male gesture, but then he thought better of it. He knew she’d have an answer for him and it wouldn’t be something he would want everyone to hear, not that he thought for one moment Rosie would be foolish enough to let everyone hear what she had to say. To the contrary, he knew she would wait until she could get close to him and whisper something in his ear.
Which is precisely what she did as soon as she could when Jimmy G and Bill were finished setting up. Jimmy had gone to his aunt’s station and was sitting off to the side fast asleep. Bill was alone in the small kitchen. He wasn’t really doing much other than making sure all was set for the dinner service.
Every so often, alone, Bill would stir the sauces, make sure all the spoons, knives and ladles (all serving utensils) were in place and set the way he liked them. He made sure the plate warmers were filled, the garnish was in place and extras of everything were set into the coolers. He went back and forth over the small kitchen, checked everything.
Rosie, now in her sexy uniform, stepped just inside the kitchen.
“My tongue is still sweet,” she said. Then she looked up. She was standing under the mistletoe which still hung in the doorway. She pointed up to it.
Bill was close to her, about ready to get himself a soda when she stepped in. Without responding, he leaned in and kissed her. As he did so, since Rosie was facing him and no one could actually see, he reached between them, between her legs and helped himself to a feel. As he pushed her panties to the side, she moved slightly to make it easier for him. He heard her moan when his touch got really real.
Then the moment was over, all too soon for both of them, but the way it had to be for where they were standing.
“Later?” Rosie said.
“Definitely,” Bill said.
By Peter Weiss
Much as he didn’t want to, he sat. They sat. Kalista had homemade sweets and she set out a plate from which the boys, her boys, could help themselves.
Jimmy G ate. First time he leaned in to get something from the plate, his aunt slapped him upside the head, not hard, just firm and surprising. Jimmy said something to his aunt in Greek but she responded in English to the effect of saying she’d hit him any time she pleased, hard as she pleased. She thanked Bill, as she did often, for not complaining about Jimmy’s laziness.
“I only know you a little while,” Bill said, “but I hope you know I think the world of you. Anything for you, love.”
Kalista smiled. As she did so, she went over to the espresso machine and made espresso for them all. They sat. They drank. Bill smoked a cigarette.
Jo Ann came by first. She was still in her civvies. Seeing them sitting, she looked at the clock on the wall. “You all set up or not even started yet?” she asked.
“Not started,” Bill said.
“Gonna be ready?”
“Why not? We have time.”
“Don’t want to hear his mouth,” Jo Ann said.
“I take care of him,” Kalista said. “I make sure he no bother my boys.”
Jo Ann helped herself to a piece of the pastry. “Keep him off our backs too,” she said.
“I hold the keys,” Kalista said.
And she did. Everyone knew she did. Everyone there associated with The Falstaff Room knew she had the goods on Caesar and knew it had to do with that waitress he’d caused to quit. That waitress had confided in Kalista, mother figure that Kalista was.
Jo Ann looked great, Bill thought. She had on tight jeans and a low-cut top that hugged her enough to reveal some but not too much of her bosom. She wore heels and she moved about comfortably in who she was. She presented herself much younger than her age and was definitely attractive.
Jo Ann always liked Kalista’s pastries and did not generally miss an opportunity to have some. She stood by everyone and she would have stayed longer if Caesar had not come by. He was on his way in for the day, ever himself in that he did not bother to stop or say hello. He had his tux on but he carried his jacket over his shoulder. His shirt collar was open, no bow tie yet.
“We need to get started,” Bill said.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said.
Kalista shook her head. She didn’t say anything.
Jo Ann made a face, shrugged her shoulders, quickly walked through the double doors into The Falstaff Room after Caesar.
Kalista went to the main kitchen with her boys. She needed some things brought out to her pantry station and told the boys she was using their truck. Bill and Jimmy G didn’t care. Even if it meant making an extra trip they wouldn’t have cared.
Kalista was happy to see Victor and Jimmy Banquet Chef. She spent a lot of time talking with them in Greek. They were working on the potatoes for the breakfast in the morning. Bill noted that she would say something and then look over toward Jimmy G. That, he thought, did not bode well for his partner.
By three-thirty Jimmy G and Bill were just about all set up. They had carried out all supplies and set up everything that needed to be set. The only things they had left to carry out were some hot items. They also had to pick up the prime rib which was still cooking. Because nothing much was going on in the main kitchen, the rotary oven was not fired up and the rib was set in one of the conventional ovens. It still had a bit more to go.
“You guys all set?” the banquet chef asked.
“The Pope Catholic?” Bill replied.
“Got time to see your girlfriend,” Victor said to Bill.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy G stretched as he stepped out of the chef’s office. Actually he yawned first, a big wide yawn that he covered with the back of his hand just before he reached both arms out wide to his sides above shoulder height. Once both arms were out there he raised them up to a parallel position overhead and reached up high.
Victor, Jimmy Banquet Chef and Bill, surprise, surprise, were finished with the sauté work. They had panned-up the last breasts, shut off their stoves and left the pans to cool down before carrying them off to the pot washer station. They stood not far from the chef’s office and smoked a cigarette.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said as he walked up to them.
“Good morning,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Victor said.
“Ya.” Jimmy G stood there with them. He yawned again, covered his mouth as he did so, stretched his arms out again then dropped them to his sides, bent them at the elbows and moved his elbows back to stretch his shoulders and back.
“We did all the chicken breasts,” the banquet chef said.
Jimmy G didn’t say anything. He shrugged his shoulders, didn’t look the slightest bit concerned about his not having done any work.
“Want to crack some eggs for tomorrow breakfast?” Victor asked him. Victor looked at the banquet chef and made a face as if to say “yeah right.”
Jimmy G didn’t answer. He didn’t do anything except turn and walk away. When he came back several minutes later he carried three mugs of espresso which he made himself over by the room service kitchen. They all stood together, drank the coffee and smoked.
“About thirty dozen,” Victor said.
“I’ll do it,” Bill said.
“We’ll all do it,” the banquet chef said. “Your partner can start the set up for the room for tonight.”
“Ya, ya,” Jimmy G said.
“We should pan up the bacon and sausage too,” Victor said.
“And the ham steaks,” Bill said. “All I want to do in the morning is the cooking.”
“We can make the potatoes too while we’re at it.”
“Not me,” Bill said. “By then, I’ll be setting up.”
“Well, let’s get started,” the banquet chef said.
They did ten dozen eggs apiece kind of as if it were a race. They each had a large china cap set into a pot and they each cracked two eggs at a time, one in each hand. The shells went directly into trash cans.
This part of the prep work did not take long and when they’d finished, they put all the cracked eggs together into one area in the walk-in. Each of their pans was wrapped tight.
Bacon, sausage links and ham were placed on sheet trays. This was a tedious chore, especially the bacon which had to be separated and laid out carefully strip by strip. The ham and sausages were easy because they could be handled in quantity and quickly set into place. The hardest part of this work was gathering the sheet pans, wrapping them in film and then carrying them off to the walk-in.
When this was done it was just about time for Bill to start work with Jimmy G gathering the needed things for The Falstaff Room. Jimmy was supposed to have started the work, but he didn’t. He went out and sat by his aunt. Kalista wasn’t working yet, but she was in her uniform and checking her pantry to see what she would need.
That’s how Bill found them, found him. Jimmy was just about back to sleep. Bill had gone to find him, to see what he’d done so far.
“Sit awhile,” Jimmy G said. “We’ll get it done fast and then you can go change if you want to.”
Bill did want to put on a clean uniform. He didn’t want to sit yet. He wanted to finish setting up before he took a break.
By Peter Weiss
The big sauté pans, maybe three feet by three feet if not slightly bigger, took up one whole stove each. If any one of the crew were working alone and were in a hurry they might have worked two pans simultaneously. That was a feat in and of itself.
Working one pan, in actuality, was hard enough. Working two pans meant working double-speed and then some. Two pans at once meant no leisure time at all. By the time you filled one pan and half of the second it was definitely time to start flipping the breasts in the first pan. With luck, if the oil were not too too hot at the start, you might get to fill the second pan before starting to flip. Two pans meant constant work and never letting your eye off the chicken breasts.
Working two pans meant constant flipping. It also meant no mistakes.
Sometimes cooks and chefs laughed to themselves. It seemed stupid, right? What kind of mistake could anyone make flipping a chicken breast? But there were many.
First and worst was splashing grease and burning yourself. That could happen lots of ways.
Dropping a breast as you went to flip one was one way. Putting a flipped breast down the wrong way was another. If the grease splashed and hit your arm, that meant an immediate blister.
Burns and blisters sucked which was why they wore long-sleeve chef’s jackets here.
The job wasn’t just flipping one breast. Each pan held about 30 breasts, sometimes more or less depending upon the size of the breasts and how tightly you put them in. So you were working at least two and a half dozen breasts at once, twice that if you were working two pans.
At Suburban they wore short-sleeve kitchen shirts. Bill could hold out his arms and show a host of burn scars, more like brown spots and stripes up his arms. At Suburban they never had to sauté on such a large scale. Most of the burns on his arms happened from fryer grease popping or from touching the top of the Garland when reaching inside the broiler. The stripes were on the top of his arm mostly, but he striped the underneath part of the arm too by touching the bottom of the broiler when reaching deep inside, and he did this often.
Other mistakes in the big sauté pans were not getting to a breast in time and having to hurry or dropping one flipped on top of another. And of course the worst was if you burned one or two breasts, or even more. This did happen and it was a great unhappiness. It meant losing some stock sometimes and it certainly meant having to change oil and/or pans in the midst of the work. Once something burned it was really hard to get that taste out.
They sautéed. As they worked they were in their own worlds yet together. They talked and they joked and they tended to what they were doing, one pan each, each one working carefully, painstakingly cautious so as not to get burned or burn the chicken.
It worked out to three pans apiece. They could do one and then a second with a quick skimming of the oil in the pan but for the third pan it was start all over again. Choices there were to empty the pan, scrape it then put fresh oil in it or to scrap the pan altogether and get a fresh one. They all decided on that latter choice, especially since they did not have to wash the pans.
While they were waiting for the oil to heat up again for that last round of frying, they stood smoking and chatting. Jimmy Banquet Chef offered what he called the last drink for the day since it was starting to get toward time to be setting up for The Falstaff Room.
By Peter Weiss
After Bill, Victor and the banquet chef breaded all the chicken breasts for all the parties and wrapped and put away what they weren’t going to sauté now, they washed and cleaned up their station then went to smoke a cigarette.
Bill was already mostly sober as they stood smoking. They’d stopped by room service to get themselves double espressos which they carried in coffee mugs. Then they stood there away from the prep part of the kitchen. They smoked. They sipped the black, somewhat-thick coffee. Victor and the banquet chef talked some in Greek and then they both spoke to Bill in English.
“Nothing much will change for you when your probation is over,” the banquet chef said.
“Kalista thinks of you as one of her own babies,” Victor said. “That’s the best you can do in this place.”
“I think she’s great,” Bill said. “She’s been great to me.”
“She likes how you cover for your lazy partner.”
“She likes how you stand up to Caesar,” Victor said.
“When we slow down in banquets,” the banquet chef said, “the chef’s gonna make sure you keep most of your extra hours. That’s good for us, good for him and good for you.”
“Idle hands,” Victor said. “How’s your little banquet waitress?”
Bill hadn’t seen Beverly in a little while and this, altogether, was not a bad thing from his point of view. Not that it mattered – in the scope of things it was just another thing that didn’t mean much in the world. It’s biggest significance was the implication in his marriage, but she was already one of many. In and of herself, she was neither here nor there.
Thinking of her, feeling as he was, Bill wished – just for a moment – she was there today. He knew, and he had felt this before at different times in his short life, he was on the edge, dangerous of sorts. Not dangerous dangerous. He knew he wouldn’t do anything dangerous, not hurt himself or anyone or even anything. But as he thought about it and he saw things, he was starting to think that Millie, who was there today, and Edelgarde and Rosie from The Falstaff Room needed to be careful. No telling what he might do. No telling who he might do it to. Whatever he was gonna do, and he didn’t know what yet himself, he might do it to all of them.
Maybe I should be careful, he thought.
“Cat got your tongue?” Victor said.
“I was thinking,” Bill said.
“Both of you better start thinking about those chicken breasts, Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “The chef won’t want to come in tomorrow and see us all backed up.”
“Where’s my partner?” Bill asked.
The banquet chef and Victor looked at each other. “Should we tell him?” Victor asked.
“Might as well.”
“Sleeping in the chef’s office,” Victor said. “That’s why it’s dark.”
“Why you hesitate to tell me?” Bill asked.
Victor and the banquet chef looked at each other again. Neither one said anything.
“I know the score,” Bill said. “I’m cool with it. Last time I’m gonna say it, but I’m just as happy working alone, so it’s all good. Besides, I truly like Kalista and I’d do most anything for her.”
“See,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said to Victor, “that’s why our sister likes him so much.”
Finished their cigarettes and the espresso, the banquet chef served them each a double shot of whiskey. Then they went about doing the sauté. Since they were alone together, they each set up their stations. This meant gathering the big, big-ass sauté pans and the tools with which to do the sauté.
Each of them ready, each of them watching and helping the two others also, they stood waiting for the oil to heat up.
By Peter Weiss
Bill remembered the aftermath of the breading that day with Mary. He remembered how he was not out of it but strangely focused on strange things. One of them was an uncontrollable sexual urge and a devil-may-care, what-the-hell attitude. Bottom line of that attitude was that he just plain didn’t give a shit.
He knew that no matter what he did they weren’t gonna fire him. He knew he could do just about anything, actually truly just about anything, and they would tolerate it. They would tolerate it because he was attached to Robert at the hip and he could do his job better than almost anyone.
First devil’s chore he chose was walking in on Marie while she was in the ladies room changing. He did it on purpose having waited what he thought was long enough for her to have shucked her civvies. He and Henry Lee were cutting meat now, it being just a touch after four in the afternoon. He told Henry Lee he was gonna go do Marie. Henry said “Bless you brother, take her off my hands for a bit.”
To his content, Bill found Marie in her bra and panties.
“What the fuck,” she said. “Get out of here before I tell Mary what you doing.”
“Tell her,” Bill said.
“I will.”
“Give me a kiss.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Give me a kiss. You always wanted to anyway.”
“That part is true.”
It was true. Marie had tried to get with Bill lots of times and Bill had stayed away out of courtesy for Henry Lee. Marie was his squeeze.
“So give me a kiss.”
Marie stepped toward Bill, reluctantly at first, but the moment their lips met and he put a hand on her shoulder she melted into him. She not only melted into him, but she kissed him passionately.
Bill pressed into her, wrapped her skinny body in his arms. He was a horny, excited twenty year old male under the influence and not in his right head.
“Goddamn,” Marie said.
Bill didn’t know if it was from her feeling him against her, she in just her panties down there, or if it was from the kiss. Either way, he reasoned best as he could reason, it didn’t matter.
What he did do was lock the door behind him so no one else could walk in on them. If it were Bea, she’d laugh. If it was Henry Lee, he might join in. If it was Mary, she’d be pissed. Not only were they an item, her and Bill, but it had been tough enough for her to get him to finish the breading. He’d wasted a lot of time and she’d had to work around him.
They kissed more. They kissed a lot more. Without any hesitation Bill reached down behind her and into Marie’s panties. She spread her legs some and let his hand and fingers go where they pleased, where she’d been wanting them to be for a good while.
“I’m embarrassed,” she said when Bill’s fingers slid into her. “Look what you do to me, white boy.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Bill said. “I’m not the least bit embarrassed.”
“I hate you,” Marie said.
“I hate you too,” Bill said.
That said from both of them, Bill went to work first. He told her he wasn’t going into her yet but it could happen some other time if she wanted it. She told him it was definitely in her plans.
Down on his knees, Bill took down her panties, looked happily at her completely bald coochie.
Marie leaned back against the sink and closed her eyes.
It would have been hard for anyone to tell who was tripping more.
Writer's play 