Pawtawnee Chronicles / Chronicle
Pawtawnee (pop 2096, located on the
shore of Lake Michigan, Wisconsin, USA) is undergoing changes:
a cathouse (Messalina Saph's Kitty-Kat Lounge) has sprung up in
town: this is an ongoing chronicle of alterations wrought in the
personalities of the residents as a consequence: oppression and
Puritanism persist, to be sure, but no longer hold absolute sway...
No. 2: Reverend Themsley discovers
the wilder side of pleasure. "Give me pink
love-flowers, slippery flesh-petals, moist bushes! Permit me,
please, to water those bushes! -- to part wide the petals, thrust
deep with tongue, lap up all the nectar!"
No. 1 or No.
condemnatory views of the good Mrs. Naughton, mate of the prominent
county judge, and her attendant circle of respectable wives have
not prevailed. Despite the rather stridently voiced concerns of
these worthy naysayers (would-be dictators of public opinion and
town policy, several of whom had adamantly urged Ms. Saph be none
too kindly compelled to quit the town), "Messalina Saph's Kitty-Kat
Lounge" has opened on schedule.
mind, Bertha, the shameless hussy will find out soon enough there's
no living for her in our God-fearing community -- it won't be
long before she hightails it back to that sin city where she came
from," Mrs. Naughton's close friend and confidant, Mrs. Thurston,
wife of the town butcher, had assured her with utter conviction
-- not neglecting, however, to keep a close watch on her neighbor's
house, inhabited by one Tyler Dalston, a younger man of forty-three
she considers something of a philanderer, on account of his having
once had the good fortune to regularly relieve the nervous tension
of an attractive school teacher, Carolyn Billings.
different reasons, some of Messalina's Chicago associates had
chided her with regard to her latest venture: "Do you really think
you're going to squeeze a single dime out of a Bible licking hick
town like that? The guys up there pray to be trampled by cows
if they so much as look lingeringly at a schoolgirl's tits!" from
one. "You'll be so lonely up there, dying for just one conversation
that has nothing to do with farm equipment and bake sales!" from
another, continuing, "Even if you do make a good living (which
I doubt, but suppose you do) will it be worth it? What are you
going to do for amusement? I know what you'll do: you'll come
running back here and beg us to kill you if you ever think of
setting up shop in a backwater waste place again!"
such prejudiced snobs!" Messalina had countered, "As if a mere
alteration of scenery is going to suffice to quench urges common
to all! I know people, and I respect them -- respect them enough
to be certain a rural as opposed to urban upbringing isn't going
to rob them of their humanity! The social environment might be
somewhat different, respectability might be slightly more lauded
as a means of achieving more equitable public relations, moral
convictions might be more often voiced from the community podium;
but, underneath all the preaching, the blood continues to surge!
Ha, you've no idea how wrong you are! No one's going to tell me
that, given the opportunity, country people will be loath to give
license to the licentiousness that seethes deep in the bloodbeat
of every healthy citizen! Procreation cannot be trodden under!
Kinkiness will out!"
Messalina's entrepreneurial instincts were proved correct, despite
not having the option of placing advertisements in the local paper.
After all, word of mouth is a far more effective news medium in
small towns, such that any resident paper is almost always scooped,
not to mention commonly disagreed with when it chooses to castigate
assorted alternatives to boredom. Yes, come they did -- almost
always through one of the three back doors, one of them being
a cellar window fitted with hinges; come they did at all hours,
whether it be in broad daylight during a prolonged lunch hour
or one AM following a late shift at the house wares plant; come
(in a slightly different use of the word) they did quite copiously,
whether in the company of Lucy, Georgette, Amelia, Carole, or
Chastity, to name a few; come they did, by means of a surprising
variety (even Messalina remarked it) of preferences -- whether
it be the hair fetishist in Linda's golden locks or the nursie/nun
man who located the uniforms in the well-stocked wardrobe room
or the squash bugs guy who panted and clawed the floor quite heatedly
as voluptuous Sheena trod upon grasshoppers and pill bugs with
the heels of her stilettos ("Grind the heel!" he would shout while
seeming to verge on the edge of an epileptic fit) or the gentleman
who preferred blue -- blue stockings, blue nighties, blue lipstick,
or all of the above-cited individuals will be named and elaborated
upon in future installments of The Pawtawnee Chronicles. For now,
we shall content ourselves with discussing the case of the upstanding
Reverend Themsley, pastor of the Lutheran church. The good Reverend
had never believed in seeking to frighten his flock into coughing
up alms by berating them for what little fun existed in their
lives -- not for him garish portrayals of the torments of hell,
fire and brimstone thunderbolts of admonition. He'd always felt
gentle renderings of the benefits to be derived by honest simple
living was the best approach to gaining the devotion of his congregation.
He'd always stressed that sentiments of hatred and envy result
in unhappiness for those that harbor them -- that loving one's
enemy is a practical approach to life, as it results in peace
of mind for the person harboring such love. "Why would one want
to waste precious time wishing ill for others when the immediate
consequence of such behavior is to make oneself miserable? Emotional
balance is beyond price and it is within everyone's grasp; like
health of the body, health of the spirit is something that cannot
be bought. What good are untold riches is one be bedridden with
illness? What good is the capacity for happiness if one be consumed
with hatred? Look after yourselves, banish rage from your lives,
and God will look after you. The rewards of equanimity of disposition
speak for themselves." Such was the gist of Reverend Themsley's
teachings, and such is why he was admired and beloved by his flock.
so one evening this good Reverend, utterly lacking in prejudices,
is strolling downtown when he glances towards the scarlet canopy
of Messalina Saph's Kitty-Kat Lounge and decides to go have a
friendly chat with the working girls, with the aim of adding them
to his congregation. He enters, is warmly received -- Messalina
and several girls gather around him on the "love couches," hear
his spiel, and assure him they will drop by on a Sunday when time
permits. Messalina grows so fond of him that she says, "My good
Sir, it's only right and proper that if you invite us to your
house, we invite you to take a tour of ours and serve you dinner
afterwards. Please, Sir, will you do me the honor?" -- so
saying, she stands, offering her arm.
good Reverend, not in the least taken aback, replies, "Of course,
Ma'am -- far be for me to be an ungracious guest."
me Messalina," she replies while smilingly leading him down the
what happens once the tour of the ground floor is ended and the
two of them are rounding the banister at the top of the stairs
on the second? An extremely sweet-dispositioned girl, by the name
of Angelica, mistakes Reverend Themsley for a customer, warmly
grasps his free arm, and says, "Oh Sir! We are, indeed,
well met! I'll show you the best time ever! If I don't make you
forget every other woman you've ever been with, my name isn't
An-gel-i-caaa!" She obviously likes him apart from mere business
matters -- her eyes are absolutely abrim with joy.
at first inclined to shake her head at the girl and bid her depart,
notices the Reverend's smile -- the general manner in which his
whole body quivers with pleasure -- the fact he isn't resisting
the grasp of the girl -- and decides to wait a moment. Her instinct
is confirmed when she finds the Reverend is wriggling his arm
free from her and sees him turns towards her with a half-apologetic
look and reads the question, "May I?" in his eyes. She immediately
smiles assent, informs the good Reverend that Angelica obviously
likes him, and watches them disappear into a nearby room with
an amused shrug of her shoulders. She can't get downstairs quick
enough to inform the other girls of what's happened, at which
they're all much entertained, liking the Reverend more than ever.
feel Angelica and the good Reverend are entitled to their privacy
and will content ourselves with describing what transpires a few
hours later, at approximately two AM. Will we be believed? One
moment all's silent in the upstairs hall as a small number of
customers, it being a weeknight, are being entertained behind
closed doors; the next moment the door of Angelica's room bursts
open and Reverend Themsley appears in a rather advanced stage
of inebriation, dressed in a manner somewhat different from that
of when he accompanied her therein: in place of his black suit
and white collar is a pleated dress, indigo with purple floral
patterns -- a long flowing emerald scarf of shimmering silk is
wrapped about his throat -- black stockings sheath his legs, matting
down the prevalent thick hair thereupon -- he wears no shoes,
apparently having been unable to find a female variety in his
size -- crimson lipstick's smudged on his lips and chin, a copper
shade of eyeliner frames his eyes in iridescence, blush highlights
the contours of his cheeks.
Reverend's obviously been amusing himself to no small extent,
as is attested by the lubricating gel that's smeared on the front
of the dress, the fresh scratches that crisscross the exposed
portion of his back, and the three or four love-nips that shine
purple-red on his throat. A look of exultation's spread over his
face -- he begins to hastily stroll towards the steps, glancing
over the hallway banister as he does so, while shouting "Messalina!
Messalina!" as if he has something important to impart to her
that won't wait. But then he suddenly stops to glance about with
bleary festive eyes, distractedly says quite loudly, "Cross-dressing,
I never would've thought, never! I… I, gentlemen and ladies, sexpots,
floozies… I wish to announce, all and one, that I've evidently
undergone a change, found a discovery -- I mean, discovered something
of fun! I may safely say… And, God Almighty, but these stockings
feel good against my shin and skin, they… They, I do insist, send
sparkles up my thighs! -- they, of course and undoubtedly, jumpstart
my pecker! -- they, beyond questionably, point the way towards
the true and sincere meaning of the mysteries of love! Ha! Ha!
Ha! Long live dress-crossing! And long live the lovelies that,
unlike us poor men, are allowed to wear dresses in public! --
hail to the slippery pinklings between their luscious legs! Yes,
by God, yes! Give me pussy-kittens, sultry lust-smittens! Give
me pink love-flowers, slippery flesh-petals, moist bushes! Permit
me, please, to water those bushes! -- to part wide the petals,
thrust deep with tongue, lap up all the nectar! Goddamn! I…" The
good Reverend lapses into silence for a few moments, seems to
be struggling to catch a thought; and then he apparently catches
it, for he yells, "But what am I doing out here, away from Angel-Puss?
I… Oh, that's right, Messalina! Well, Miss Messy can wait! More
Angel-Kitten puss is for the taking -- for the savor-sucking!
More cattish pink in flaxen blond bush fur! Angeliiiccaaaa!" he
calls while about-facing towards her door. "Angelica! Honey-bunny!"
he continues as he jerks the door open, steps inside for the second
come on back, sweet thing!" is heard from Angelica inside. "You
can tell Messalina all about your discovery -- and show her the
becoming dress -- later…"
is how the good Reverend Themsley, in his zeal to find additional
parishioners, became a convert to the religion practiced inside
the plush rooms of Messalina Saph's Kitty-Cat Lounge instead.
"Tolerance" was the declared theme of his sermon the following
Sunday, and it's widely thought the good man reached new heights
of eloquence and sincerity while delivering it. Pawtawnee's resident
priest, Father Dexter, was said to be quite jealous, even worried
that a Catholic or two might decide Martin Luther wasn't such
an upstart after all.
No. 1 or No.
Pawtawnee Chronicles: Chronicle
© 2001 Sliptongue, Inc.