This past Saturday I attended my local chapter meeting. For a speed writing exercise, we were asked to bring a brown paper bag (sorry, mine was a Wal Mart bag—who uses paper sacks anymore?) containing six random items, one being a picture of a hot hero. We passed them around and ended up with someone else’s bag. Inside the one I received was a match, a battery, an earring, a navel lent brush, a floss pick and a picture of John Slattery from Desperate Housewives and Mad Men. For those of you who don’t watch those, here he is. Sorry, I don't have the pic of John from the bag, the one with no shirt.
So, we had a fifteen minute time limit to write something that included all the objects in our bag. It takes me longer to decide which pen to use much less write more than the words um…um….um. But this was a drill and the pressure was on.
Of course, John, being a sexy older hero, sent me in the direction of a “second chance romance,” and some of the contents put me in a humorous mood. Here’s the result of our first round…
“Oh, my God. I’m too old for this.”
Delia Sedgewick faced her reflection in the bathroom mirror and tried to remember what she’d looked like the first time she’d had sex. It was too long ago—thirty years—and miles of wrinkles she now sported testified to that. Oh, she could still pass for pretty, but the bloom was definitely wilting. And much too fast.
Not that she’d want to return to the frightened virgin she’d been. Or the loser she’d married. And this time would be different. Tom was a good man. And he wasn’t her husband.
Backing away from the mirror, she tossed the floss-pick in the trash and removed her earrings. Her blouse and bra came next. The waist of her jeans rode just below her navel. Hmm. Maybe I should have brought my navel lint brush. What if his tongue comes out with more lint than my dryer filter?
A light knock sounded at the door. “You comin’ out any time tonight?”
“Almost ready.” Delia quickly shed the rest of her clothing and exited the comforting security of the hotel bathroom wearing nothing but the skin God gave her.
Tom looked up from lighting the candle on the dresser and smiled his approval. She laughed when he forgot the match until it burned too close to his fingers.
Her confidence rising, she stepped closer, eager to slide her hands over those bronzed pecs. Not many men his age could boast such a sculpted chest. “Did you bring everything?
Jerking his chin toward the table by the bed, he reached for her. “Yep. Even extra batteries for the vibrator.”
Ding, my fifteen minutes were up. Yeah, it might be cliché and lame, but it was fun and with a bit of thought might turn into something worth continuing. And best of all, it stirred some long-dormant creativity.
If you like this one, visit again soon. I’ll post the second round, which was my favorite of three and one I will probably pursue.
Have a great week!