Frivolity: An Angie & Ella Weblog
Angie & Ella & Guests
& Ella and their friends share excerpts from emails, snippets
of adventures, assorted rants and raves, idle whirls of thought;
they trade gossip, advertise preferences, proffer advice,
praise and chide and tease.
& Ella are second year associates at a midtown Manhattan law
firm. They are now starring in their very own epistolary novel.
more information click:
FRIVOLITY (On Maturity, or the Lack Thereof)
MARCH 6, 2008
by Steven (from an email to Caroline, second year law student
(cc: Angie & Ella)): So,
Caroline, some imbecile said you were immature? Well,
so what? I've been told that zillions of times, and wear those
words like a badge of honor! Yup, I have a few thoughts on that
score! It's absolutely true I often behave like a child: I do
so gleefully -- defiantly! Here's my theory: if one behaves like
a child, then it follows that one also has the emotional freshness
and health and vitality of a child. In fact, I consider it my
duty as a human being to avoid so-called responsible behavior
like the plague.
at thirty-eight, I've already been around long enough to see firsthand
what overmuch mature behavior does to people, how rapidly lecturing
self-righteous types age! A mere gap of a year between sightings
of such individuals can render them virtually unrecognizable:
grossly expanded girths, formless and sagging faces, triple-chins
where single chins once were -- the whole shape of their heads
has changed! A dull flicker's displaced the gleam in their eyes;
they have trouble walking up four flights of stairs; they complain
about aging incessantly, say "Wait until you're my age; then
you won't be so irreverent anymore!" when (ha ha!) I'm actually
older than they are! It's happened far too many times to count!
planners they are -- always think before speaking, lest they fluster
an imbecile or two... Well, let me tell you something: nothing
eats away at vitality more than being careful -- than in caring
what others think! They even walk carefully, thoughtfully -- no
quick darting on the sidewalk -- no rapid pace! They dislike people
who blow by them on the sidewalk -- dislike energy! Energy's immature,
had slobs glare at me simply because I effortlessly strode past
them in the hallway at work! They don't like that my rapid pace
makes them look like the life-sapped whiners that they are! "Oh,
you ran up the stairs? Why don't you settle down?"
Well, listen here, slush-ass: one look at you informs me it's
poison to settle down! Follow your advice? end up as resentful
and unhealthy as you? Just as soon as birds fly to the bottom
of the sea!
those who would seek to subdue and control me by trotting out
snide comments concerning maturity (based on their horror of vitality,
as well as resentment at my unconcealed indifference as to what
they think), I say: suck dead horse ass, and wither and die!
(And yup, true to form, certain stressed killjoys will point out
it's highly unbecoming to make such statements: what do I care?
Time's working overtime in stamping the passing of the hours on
their soon-to-be triple-chinned faces -- their soon-to-be solid
gray hair -- their soon-to-be lack of the ability to lift a leg
higher than a chair!)
immature, Caroline! Play pranks galore, scamper about like an
excited little girl! Avoid unhealthy people -- avoid careful people
-- avoid boring people! Just laugh and laugh and laugh! And should
some care-worn resentful bile-spewing twat venture to express
disapproval at your behavior -- should she call you immature;
then flick your hair back and wiggle your ass and dance a bit
and laugh some more! Being healthy and happy is the best revenge!
to Steven (cc: Ella):
So refreshing to see you're dispensing sage advice to the youngsters,
Stevie! It's you who are the mature one, not those who blather
about maturity! Being mature consists of living in such a manner
that one's continuously bouncing off the walls with energy, eager
to greet each new day and revel in being alive -- not in being
a pusillanimous scaredy cat twit! A child's a person who hasn't
been swindled by civilization into being terrified of having fun,
and true wisdom consists of remaining a child all one's life!
Some people cease to be children before they turn twelve, and
that's their loss; others giggle and play all their life long,
and that's their strength! Obviously, the former resent the superior
health and well-being of the latter, seek to reign them in with,
"Why can't you be more mature?" or "Learn to accept
responsibility!" or "You need to lose the little girl
giggle, if you want people to take you seriously!" or any
other pathetic show of shoddy jealousy!
should I fail to be joyful because some killjoy's frowning at
me? Why should I fail to flaunt my hot-assed figure because a
fattie's looking me up and down with scorn? These people busy
themselves with judging others because they detest themselves:
that's their problem, not mine! I'm not going to cater to their
alignment with death and decay!
and I were having a dandelion blossom battle on the lawn in Bryant
Park last September during lunch hour -- scampering about on hands
and knees, picking them as quickly as we could, flinging them
in each other's hair, giggling ourselves dizzy: good clean fun!
Plus, of course (tee hee!), teasing the boys with our dancing
hemlines -- now revealing nearly all of a thigh, now sliding back
to cover to our knees; nor to forget the tops of our dresses periodically
hanging down, providing breasts-snug-in-half-cups shots; and the
whole laughing frenetic girly thing, the peals of our mirth --
not all that different from a pillow fight in nighties! Plus the
semi-transparency of our white summer dresses (mine floral patterned,
Ella's polka dotted) didn't hurt either -- nice panty, brassiere,
and tops-of-stockings lines!
two gainfully employed attorney girls behaving like ten year olds
-- keeping our complexions fresh, muscles limber and exercised,
emotions fluid and fun! Helping ourselves to heaps of well-being
whilst providing free entertainment!
ha ha! Ella, you were so divine with the yellow flowers in your
black as night locks! I couldn't stop laughing...
then, when we're done and stand and smooth our dresses down, remove
the blossoms from our hair, are merrily prancing back to the office,
what happens? Some furrowed brow slob of a sloppy hairdo tourist
-- offending all eyes with tacky acid wash jeans (barely containing
her flaccid ass!) and ghastly faded orange sweatshirt -- crosses
her arms across her chest, puffs herself up in a shoddy intimidation
stance, says with supremely ridiculous conceit, "I would
think you'd have the decency to act your age!"
the sight of this overweight and badly dressed visitor puffing
herself up as if she's the end-all and be-all of authorities on
proper conduct... We stop with mouth's agape, just looking at
her, for a few moments (I was about to pinch myself to make certain
it wasn't an absurd dream!); then... Oh, I just burst out laughing!
Ella says, "If we acted our age, we might end up looking
like you, and I'd rather be dead!"
guess what? No comeback's forthcoming! The fun-hating thing just
stares! Hell, as stiff with regard to repartee skills as she is
with moving about! She can't believe her arms-across-chest judgmental
garbage hasn't succeeded in making us feel ashamed, doesn't know
what to say!
yes, Ella and I will continue to behave like lil' girlies for
as long as we live, lest we start to acquire some of tourist slob's
physical and emotional flaccidity! She was probably only in her
late thirties, for God's sake! What a disgrace to healthy living!
will be forever lost on such emotionally rancid excuses for human
beings is that true maturity consists of remaining limber in all
respects, and not allowing the living dead to drag one down to
their level of misery!
live the playfulness and delirium that quickens one's wit and
keeps one's body limber! Hallelujah hilarity!
Yes, Stevie and Angie, long live the irrepressible liveliness
that annoys responsible people, causes them to screw
their faces up and spout nonsense! They look supremely ridiculous
when seeking to rein us in! Fundamentally lazy and phlegmatic,
they only pay attention to others when others are giving the lie
to their dead dispositions with gleeful unbridled silliness!
Who's the most aligned with life, one who races about giggling
or one who stands there glaring at the one who's giggling? And
wherefore the glares? It's jealously! -- the jealously of those
who've fallen by the waysides of nature, and fumble through life
resenting those who haven't! -- jealousy that seeks to conceal
its motives by dreaming up abstractions such as immaturity!
(Alright, so you've already said the same thing: it's just so
much fun to have a turn at thumbing my nose
at the tedious drones of this world!)
Stevie, I gather your friend Caroline was subjected to an unpleasant
experience, and lacks the perspective that we have? Law school
can be a time when one's very vulnerable to life's naysayers!
All the constant cramming to avoid being swamped by the class
load, and pressure to excel so's to land spots in the top tier
firms! Yes, it becomes tempting to believe one must become a dour
killjoy, kiss so-called childish impulses good-bye! I was there,
and I understand! (Me a -- ha ha! -- veritable nun in LS, as you
two still (highly flatteringly!) refuse to believe!)
I say we -- the four of us -- return to the scene of the crime!
Yes, introduce Angie and I to Caroline -- arrange a get-together,
say we're going to assist her in righting the wrong that's been
done her high spirits! Oh, we won't get her in trouble (if it's
a prof that chided her, for instance): Angie and I will be dressed
ultra professionalissimo, stylishly corporate from our hair-in-buns
to our closed-toe pumps! We'll bandy about where we work, allude
to high profile deals, rub it in while giggling our lil' heads
off! We'll heap plenty of disrespectful innuendo on the offending
party while letting it be known and seen Caroline has friends
in high places! Oh, we must! It's our duty to keep the
flame of fun alive in the best and brightest, arm them with the
perspective they need to survive LS without being turned into
frightened humorless toe-the-lines!
that I'm knocking LS, mind you -- it's given me focus, discipline,
a fine career, and independence in the most glorious city on the
face of the earth! And, judging by what you wrote to her, Caroline's
a bright one destined for the same! It's our duty to give back,
and she'll be a credit to her school! On her terms!
ha, I haven't met Caroline yet but I already like her; and it
burns me up that she's been wounded by an idiot blathering of
immaturity; and I just feel an overwhelming desire -- a mommy
impulse -- to arm her to the teeth! She'll learn to laugh at and
pity such clowns, and become adept at dissecting their motives,
and won't be dispirited on account of them any more!
right, enough! Arrange it, Stevie dear; and then we'll have a
high ol' time while doing a good deed -- saving a soul!
* * *
DECEMBER 14, 2006
by Ella (from an email to Angie & Steven): Well,
now you've set me off! Music, sweet music! What would the world
be without it? A very dull and empty and dismal place, that's
what! Meaning: now I've got to do a music appreciation thing too!
So here goes:
I lapse into a shameful state of indifference, or am out-and-out
depressed, I can flick on the mp3 player and immediately recover
my good spirits by inundating the room with the divine tones of
- say - Mozart's Jupiter Symphony, or Wagner's Ride
of the Valkyries, or Chopin's Preludes, or Prokovief's
Romeo and Juliet, or anything by Monteverdi, Byrd, Campra,
Charpentier, Purcell, or... Well, how can I begin to list all
the music that's capable of flowing through my nerves like warm
electricity, lifting me into blitheness, making me giddily thankful
I'm a creature alive upon this earth?
The motion of emotion can be captured in music; the endless shifting
of our moods - patterns of our nerve-pulsations - can be echoed
in repeating themes of the musical scale; a high note floating
above a lower key rumble can mirror imagination's ceaseless efforts
to carry us above day-to-day routine! Music's a miracle drug that
sweeps through my veins and tingles my nerves and lifts my spirits,
such that I'm transported outside the boundaries of my senses
and united with a greater whole!
an aural architectural wonder that displaces the nothingness of
the air, infuses dead silence with pictures and feeling, charges
the atmosphere with sensual depth - an emotion-heightener, catalyst
of the imagination! Music's immersion in tantalizing suggestions
of sensations I can't put my finger on, a cascade of blurred snippets
of images that may or may not belong to lost memories - hints
of infinity, a tease! Music never fails to lift the commonplace
towards a boundless world!
often play requiem masses while getting pretty for a date. Am
I a gloomy girl? do I habitually smother myself in the anti-color
black, layer on gobs of pale makeup, mope about aping melancholic
frames of mind? Hardly! - I couldn't be paid oodles of money to
deck myself out in drab gloom-girl getups, look like the unburied
dead! So why requiem masses? Simple: the original intent of a
requiem mass, lost to the present-day sensibility, was to perform
an uplifting piece of sheer beauty at funerals for the purpose
of celebrating life and naysaying death! Une pompe funebre,
composed to demonstrate that us mere mortals will not merely carry
on in the face of death, but do so with joy swelling in our breasts!
Requiem masses gloomy? Ha! The perception of gloominess is nothing
but a modern guilt-by-association conceit! They were composed
for and performed at funerals, so they're assumed to be gloomy,
never mind that the music itself flagrantly contradicts such a
perception! Modern presumption fails to take the stratagem of
"masking death by its very representation" into account!
Our materialistic civilization not merely takes everything at
face-value, it seeks to imprison us in face-values! Surface appearances
are extolled above emotional transcendence, and religious rapture's
categorized as delusional aberration! If something can't be packaged
and sold, it's as good as nonexistent! Our consumerist society
seeks to addict us to useless dreck because that's where the money
is! But music's refuge in intangibility - sound can neither be
seen, touched, tasted, nor smelled! Hearing's the ghostly sense
- the otherworldly sense - the perception-of-temporality sense!
Hearing's the sense that best whirls us from the feel of ourselves
in our flesh and opens the portals of infinity!
there I am in the bathroom, surrounded by mirrors and bright lights
- toying with nail polish and makeup, trying on different dresses,
doing my hair this way and that (If a date isn't motivation for
experimentation with self-presentation then it's not a date worth
going on!) - and the movements of a requiem are electrifying the
air, pulsing in my blood, setting my skin ashiver... Well, it's
often impossible to resist spreading a fluffy beach towel on the
tiling and lying atop it, stretching and twisting, breathing deeply,
surrendering to the slipstream of nerve-caressing notes! Yes,
deep breathing and stretches: I'm doing yoga as - perchance? -
it's the Sanctus that's engulfing me in shimmers and
dissolving the walls! Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Domine Deus...!
as I swirl free of my body, float above the floor! Hosanna
in excelsis! as I swoon in joy while wide awake! And on through
the Agnus Dei and Communion (lux perpetua
luceat - may everlasting light shine!) and back again to
the Intro (I always set the player on "Repeat"!), for
another journey through the sequence of prayers of the ceremony
as I become the stuff of prayer inside and temporarily relinquish
my ties to the temporal world!
There's a reason why I'm often an hour or more late for dates!
I've ended up experimenting with nail sparkle combinations for
over an hour while thinking it was only about twenty minutes!
Time ceases to exist when a requiem's chorus surges behind the
interplay of soprano and tenor and countertenor; when the tremulous
beauty of the tones whisks my imagination into pictures of vast
steppes, silver rivers, cloud forests on jagged cliffs, or enraptured
contemplation in quiet churches in ancient towns! Or into pictures
of illict assignations on palace balconies, masked balls in Baroque
courtyards, frolic on canopied beds in bright anterooms a
primping for a date with a requiem playing is both sensory orgy
and religious trance, and sometimes it's more memorable than the
date itself! Anticipation, after all, can be a tough act to follow!
* * *
DECEMBER 7, 2005
Angie, Ella, and Steven partake of refreshment in a downtown tea
room, the following conversation occurs.)
Uhmmm... White tea, with a vanilla bean stir-stick: the divine
beverage stirs me all tingly, such that I feel like causing some
randy stir-up somewhere very soon!
(with mock surprise):
But how can that be? As it says on this box (he takes a box
of tea from her shopping bag): "White tea is like a
cup of serenity itself...with its delicate aroma and pure, radiating
flavor, white tea has been used for centuries by the Chinese in
the most formal tea ceremonies, and described as an almost spiritual
I'm astounded such a beverage of peace and spiritual well-being
inspires you with thoughts of mischief! I don't understand it
a box of Clipper organic white tea, on the Web at: clipper-teas.com
Ha! You know very well why Ella and I adore Japanese tea rooms:
'tis so we can regather our forces for further romp-catting! The
hushed and solemn atmosphere, whispered conversations as of people
discussing secret things; scent of jasmine and rose, incense-infused
air... In this temple of brass tabletops and jade carvings and
muted light and tea we come to a standstill inside, the better
to clear our heads of useless distraction and regain focus as
regards our fondness for frolic!
Yes, the heavenly tea softly filters through our nerves and blossoms
into a steady hum - surges into itchiness, desire! Tea's an aphrodisiac
for us, sparks electricity! Plus there's the lavender oil I've
applied to my throat and forehead that reminds me of, places me
in touch with, the excitement and fire I feel following yoga class
- all the tension wrung from my muscles in a vigorous sequence
of stretching and balancing; all the energy unleashed, such that
I'm lifted from the surface of existence, aswim in my innermost
churnings of desire! Always, from a state of inner peace does
desire flow most unimpededly!
(again with mock surprise):
Sipping tea? Yoga class? Again, I marvel at how the two of you
extract hunger from communion with inner quietude! Aren't you
You're forgetting communion with inner quietude's an act of rebirth!
Peaceful lounging in a tea room, or serene stretching in an incense
filled yoga studio: as I've already said, these activities wash
the cluttered surface of life from our senses, thereby uniting
us with the surge of lust! 'Tis a miraculous contradiction: renewed
clarity and force of desire results from meditation!
Seems to me you're merely doing word-substitution now, instead
of speaking rationally: where does meditation come into it?
As usual, you persist in intentionally being silly! Yoga begins
with ten minutes of breathing exercises, to open up one's interior
before the stretching begins, and ends with Savasana, or the corpse
pose, whereby one lies on one's back and limply surrenders to
the energy coursing through one. (Post-orgasm, in a way: it's
always as if I'm floating above the floor, suspended somewhere
inside my humming body!) And, when one rises from Savasana to
greet the world again... God! One's so pure inside, united with
one's depths... Well, if that isn't meditation, I don't know what
Sweetie, we can allow this pest (she playfully swats Steven)
to bait us all day, goad us into pointlessly explaining what he
already knows, or we can get the hell out of here and do something
about scratching our itches! So what do you say? Why don't we
hop a cab up to the Carlyle
for a flute of bubbly in the cafe, amuse ourselves by teasing
the males with our hair routine?
By all means! 'Tis always fun to go to a refined frou-frou place
with our hair pinned in buns, take turns undoing them for each
other, and start fussing with the liberated locks!
It's the perfect excuse for us to neglect to notice our already
high hemlines are riding up even higher! A crisscross of our legs
here, flinging open of our legs there; and hemmy ends up well
above our stocking tops!
Yes, all done in utter disregard as we busy ourselves making our
hair perfect! Nothing like playing at naive whilst filling a place
with sex emanations! Every hot blooded male ends up staring at
us goo-goo and we're - ha ha! - simply two innocent hair-busy
girls who are utterly unaware of it!
Plus the whole flinging of our hair about thing as its being combed!
Every male, take my word for it, has a hair fetish - whether he's
aware of it or not! Ella's dark waves and my chestnut curls in
perpetual motion - being combed and tossed around, tied up only
to be untied again! No male's immune!
We never can seem to get our hair how we want it; and so there's
much tussle and bustle - giggling, squeals, and squirming! Another
reason for us to be oblivious of treating half the room to panty
Yes, very impressive! You get a roomful of men you don't care
about salivating for you! What's the point? And, another thing:
those that tease often end up being teased themselves: the forces
you unleash can come back to bite you! I'm sure you'll be plenty
hot and bothered afterwards, end up tasting of frustration!
Of course we get stimulated plain nuts! That's the whole point
of doing it! It's impossible to inspire sex-hunger without coming
under its influence ourselves! Teasing a roomful of strangers
is pure aphrodisia, giddy foreplay! Ella and I get fired up, then
duck into a doorway or traipse on home for cuddles on the couch!
Or, Stevie, you could meet us afterwards, assist with reintroducing
us to serenity: how 'bout it?
Why don't I just come to the Carlyle with you?
No no no! You'd be quite superfluous! What would you do, sitting
at the table while we carry on? You'd look like an idiot, plus
put a damper on the other males' reactions! You'd throw the chemistry
Sorry, Stevie: the tidy-our-tresses game's for girls only! It's
Angie and I communing with our femininity, and with each other
- indulging in the exhibitionism that's second nature to us girls;
giving into our instinct to unremittingly flirt, stir-up, tease!
We thrill to the emotional motion of flashing games! 'Tis pure
delight to lovingly conspire together, secretly laugh!
Just a pair of cuties out to hook some males with our fishing
lure bodies - reel them into hankering for us, then cut them loose!
Such catch-and-release games are a measure of how us girls stand
in the natural scheme of things, a mirror in which we glimpse
the extent of our skill at seduction and conquest; it's very important
that we regularly confirm, via real life instances of males lusting
after us, how appealing we are: we wilt without such feedback.
Assorted judgmental fools will say such an activity's a shameful
excursion into deception; it's not a nice thing, they'll point
out, to misuse our God given attractiveness, take unfair advantage
of the hankering males have for females to induce frustration
in them; but, hey, too bad: it's part of being a girl.
As a matter of fact, nature demands that us girls constantly do
trail runs of the art of seduction, keep our skills honed; that
way, should a cataclysm befall our species and we happen to be
among the survivors, we'll know how to quickly and efficiently
go about inspiring male interest and getting ourselves fertilized
in the interests of propagation. A cataclysm of such proportions
may seem unlikely in this day, but for most of history it's been
a reality - just think of the plague killing off a third of Europe's
population. And who knows but that we're living a life of false
security, with a new plague lurking around the corner? Nature's
always with us; she demands we be prepared; she's not kind, she's
efficient. So yes, Angie and I will continue to play our catch-and-release
captivation games, bedevil males without mercy! And, if such a
cataclysm does befall mankind and we happen to survive it, we'll
be the first ones to get filled with the seeds of a new beginning!
Ha! How's that for justifying the way we relentlessly toy with
Why bother with justifying? Toying with the boys happens to tingle
us silly, and that's all the reason we'll ever need to indulge
Fine, go play your tease-games! And, once you're done, I'll play
some of my own when you're begging for ministration!
Begging? Why, you conceited, insulting, ill-mannered lout! (She
playfully slaps him.) How dare you take an after-tease rendezvous
for granted! How dare you presume Ella and I need you, when we're
quite capable of settling one another down without you! Yes, newsflash!
There's no need for you to be in the equation!
Yes, you've shown yourself to be very arrogant (And, perhaps,
a wee bit jealous? How tawdry!), and so I rescind my invitation!
Girls like us do not put up with ghastly male assumption!
We belong to whomsoever we choose whensoever we choose, not the
other way around!
(in a tone of exaggerated courtliness):
I beg your pardon, beauteous damsels, and ask your forgiveness!
You're lovelier than the dawn of a spring morning - fresh as newly
budded flowers, graceful as long grass asway in the breeze - and...
God, I was unnerved by your extraordinary charm, and temporarily
lost my manners! Of course, your regal bearing and breathtaking
comeliness entitles you to on-my-knees supplication (he sinks
to his knees) for your favors! Of course, I must declare
my utter worthlessness, and hope you'll have pity on me! Of course,
your flawless complexions and satin smooth skin entitle you to...
My God! The two of you are twin Aphrodites risen from the foam
of a restless sea! You're surrounded by the blinding light of
angels who've deigned to pay us poor pathetic mortals a visit
upon this dreary earth!
(puffing herself up, haughtily tossing her head back):
You've neglected to mention my new barrette!
How could I be so remiss? The twin rows of pearls upon the crescent
of silver's truly a masterpiece! And, yet, the pearls pale against
the clear crystal orbs of your eyes from which purity of spirit
breathtakingly surges - orbs that hint of the very origin and
mystery of life! A handful of jewels flung across the floor wouldn't
distract from the brilliance of your vertigo-instilling eyes!
(tweaking him on the forehead):
You've overlooked my hair ribbon!
Such an imperceptive dolt I am! How could I fail to swoon at the
sight of the crimson streamers, as vivid in hue as they are graceful
in motion as they wisp about the back of your neck? And, yet,
their grace is that of a crippled donkey when held up to yours!
Your innate poise is such as would make a cat jealous! How can
I describe the manner in which the way you reach for a glass and
bring it to your lips - or simply incline your head - stirs me,
makes me gasp with awe? The expression "symphony of motion"
doesn't come close to doing your manner of movement justice!
Think he's laid it on thick enough?
As vain a female as I am, I think I might retch if he feeds me
Are my ears lying to me? I thought I heard two females say they've
had their fill of flattery! Is such a thing possible?
Oh, get off your knees!
And now you two get up (he yanks them to their feet)
and haul your asses (he swats the said asses) to the
Carlyle, so you can get that hair-fussing-tease-game crap out
of your system! I'm getting impatient!
My place at nineish, OK?
(gesturing towards the exit):
thee gone, strumpets - I'll see you after:
We'll rustle 'n' tussle - die of laughter!
* * *
SEPTEMBER 6, 2005
by Steven (from an email to Angie & Ella): So,
my darlings, how do two adult men - Byron and myself - sow utter
chaos in a public place and get away with it? It's easy: all one
needs is a spirited dog!
dog in question's an English Setter, eleven months old: full grown
size-wise, but still a puppy disposition-wise - slender, graceful
of bearing, cute, a breed that's not often seen outside of dog
shows. (The contract Byron signed with the breeder actually requires
him to show the dog - a stipulation he's choosing to ignore. After
all, what's the breeder, located in Vancouver, going to do about
it? And, if it comes to that, forcing a dog as lively as an English
Setter, originally bred for hunting, to endure the endless transport
cages of the dog show circuit is a high crime!)
on Labor Day Byron pops down for a visit from Westchester; we
take the dog - named Zuke - to Central Park. From the moment we
enter the park Zuke's straining at the leash, such that it's real
work to keep him from yanking it from my grasp; when I release
him behind the Met, he tears off towards Cleo's Needle, wildly
darting hither and thither.
a full grown English Setter puppy: a beautiful creature to see
when he's racing free! Zuke's on permanent overdrive, is faster
than any other dog in the park; extremely playful, he buzzes other
dogs, jumps on them, compels them to chase him; but none can catch
him, or even come close.
quality of English Setter's is that they love people: Zuke's way
of greeting people is to rear up on his hind legs and place his
front paws on their chests, often rather abruptly.
enough prelude - onto the real fun:
stroll to the Great Lawn and, ignoring the signs that say dogs
must be leased therein, allow Zuke to enter the great expanse
unhindered. He tears across picnic blankets, spilling bowls and
scattering plates; he jumps into the laps of people, kisses them
with his big slobbery lips; he interferes with softball games
- in one case enters the batter's box and knocks the catcher on
his rear; in another case fields a hit in the outfield and races
about in tight circles with the ball. And all the while Byron
and I, making a show of actually trying to catch the dog and leash
him, are having a high ol' time screaming "Zuke! Zuke!"
at the top of our lungs.
of the people are laughing; others are simply watching with no
discernable opinion; a minority are plainly annoyed; but these
latter dare not openly express their annoyance because they'd
instantly be branded "dog haters" and attract unkind
glances! Zuke's a cute graceful child-dog romping without a care
in the world: no one's going to voice opposition, as long as Byron
and I make a show of trying to catch him, all the while dispensing
apologies here and there.
here's our secret: as long as Byron and I are in Zuke's vicinity,
he's not going to come to us; as long as we're closeby it's all
one huge game to him, regardless of whether we're screaming his
name! It's our canine and human agreement: dog romps and disrupts
everything, we pretend to try to catch him while counting on him
to pay us no mind!
chased Zuke about the Great Lawn for full on twenty minutes; he
brought several softball games to a standstill, rumpled picnic
blankets galore, teased plenty of leashed dogs, even snatched
a few morsels of food, and: no one was openly cursing us!
Because, after all - as one woman said: "Such a cute puppy-wuppy!"
Ha ha ha!
last, we exited the Great Lawn's south side and headed back towards
the Met and Zuke followed - which, of course, we could've done
from the beginning, had we wanted to pass on enjoying ourselves!
heard the saying about dogs having similar dispositions to their
masters? Such is certainly true of Byron and Zuke: they're both
happy go lucky pranksters!
thing Byron told me about the breeders: they're often exceptionally
neurotic women with no man in their life; they're all, without
exception, rather insistent (It's also in the contract, along
with the "must show the dog" clause.) about male dogs
being neutered! Is Byron going to castrate a fellow male simply
because it's in a contract drawn up by a sex-deprived old maid?
* * *
FEBRUARY 23, 2005
by Angie (from an email to Ella): As
for what followed: Ella, it's beyond me how I happened to think
of the zoo as we were strolling away. What can I say? A picture
of the zoo popped into my head from out of nowhere and I instantly
wanted to go there; and the moment I wanted to go to the zoo,
a polar bear -- huge, powerful, muscular -- materialized before
my mind's eye, and I had to see one! And more: I suddenly knew
I wanted to crest while staring at a polar bear! And I well recall
what you first thought for a few moments when I revealed my wish,
and you were completely wrong! It was not -- and never could be
-- any stupid fascination with species barrier sex! What an insult!
Such a thing never entered my head, and I'm amazed and distressed
you could ever think it would, even for a few moments! Copulation
with an animal? Sick! The sudden desire to flood while observing
a polar bear... It was an admiration of Mommy Nature's craftswomanship
thing, and nothing else! Think about it: such a fierce animal
draped in all that beautiful soft ghost white fur! Such a miraculous
manifestation of savagery united with grace! I reiterate: it was
an appreciation of nature thing, and I don't understand why you
didn't grasp that right away! The same as when I stroke myself
during thunderstorms: all that stimulating power and chaos in
(Having got that lil' reproach, which you richly deserve, off
my chest!): all the way to the zoo I'm a giggling little girl,
delighted beyond measure, like as not to jump out of my skin for
joy; and why not? I'm going to be seeing the polar bears soon!
What's not to love about that? The predators are, by far, the
most popular animals! There's something spiritually uplifting
about seeing one of nature's living masterworks -- the sheer strength
and unrepentant viciousness of such a creature, joined to more
innate grace and balance than a prima donna ballerina could acquire
in a lifetime of dancing! Just being in the proximity of such
an animal's a privilege! Yes! A wild creature, that knows nothing
of civilization's inherent restriction; that gives us an inkling
of our primal origins, takes us back to sensations we barely remember,
hints at the awe that must have been a part of every waking minute
of a typical human day! Imagine a time when being devoured by
a predator was a very real danger -- when huddling about fires
at night was necessary to prolong one's life! It's something of
that distant history of ours that comes swirling back to me when
I see a large predator, and that excites me in a very pleasant
course, the big cats are the most perfect animals in existence!
If they had tigers, lions, leopards, or jaguars at the park zoo
I'd certainly be making a beeline for them instead of the bears;
but one makes due with what's available; and, hey, a polar bear's
quite suitable as a stand in -- very much so! Yes, Honey: cat
lover me had to stick this parenthetical paragraph in!)
the time we arrive at the zoo I'm going out of my mind with lust
while laughing -- I don't even remember going through the turnstile!
Yes, I'm so silly confused at first that I yank you to the lower
level, the water tank view… There's a bear in the water,
swimming: see his paddling paws, claws cleaving the water! See
his long fur fluff like feathers, flow backwards and forwards
like seaweed! I'm gasping immediately, would dearly love to press
myself against the glass and squirm as your fingers dance up inside
me; but it's far too risky as far as being found out goes, plus
children are nearby! Nope, I'm not going to do anything remotely
naughty in the presence of children!
to an unfrequented pocket of the upper level we go, really the
only choice; and, hey, it's even the best choice, because another
bear's right there, clawing at the ground close to the barrier!
Wow! The nearness of the bear buckles my knees, such that I've
got to press them against the glass to steady myself; and, of
course, you're pressing against me, supporting me. Yes, the powerful
limbs -- huge scraping claws -- of the bear! What strength ripples
in the beast's muscles; and what ripples instantly tighten my
tummy, pull me into the ebb and flow rhythm of rising towards
a flood! Authentic wonder grips me; I'm being vouchsafed a hint
of the animal view of things -- the bear's utter indifference
to human law and order, allegiance only to kill or be killed by
starvation! Yes, the whole untamed world of slaughter, feast,
and thrive; the whole of nature's way, predator and prey: it all
comes swirling in on me at the sight of the bear and flings me
well on my way towards communion via orgasm!
thing we bought those rain slickers (They're not even bad looking:
pale blue!) off the sidewalk vendor before hitting the park: such
effective veils! One's tied around my waist to conceal our lustful
doings; it drapes to my ankles. I'm full out leaning against the
glass, almost seeming to be suspended in air, rubbing against
it and breathing deep with you snuggles against me; then you slip
your hand inside my dress, place your palm squarely on my muff,
commence to vibrate softly: such a pleasure cup of a hand! Such
maddeningly subdued foreplay! Such gentle quiver-shivers, crazy
stimulating in their restraint!
you know my body so well, read my moods as if they're you're own!
You do a sudden swift entry with a finger (Ooooo! 'Tis like being
pierced with wet flames!), such that… Well, I couldn't imagine
your timing being better! I couldn't imagine being otherwise treated
to that hint of a swoon, verging on vertigo, that's pure freedom!
(And, hey, maybe it only lasts a second or two? The world can
be reflected in a raindrop; infinities of sensation can be crammed
into an instant!) I'm continuing to admire the musculature of
that mighty predator when you work another finger inside me and
go for the deep, do some maddening slither-slide up and down my
I'm still staring at the bear, watching him scoop huge pawfuls
of dirt -- watching the strength course through his massive ghostly
white predator's body… Ha, would you believe it? I'm suddenly
envisioning myself being torn to shreds with those claws, mauled
by the gaping maw of his mouth, crunched by his jaw and teeth,
swallowed down! My God, girl! The instant I envision that, I'm
putty in your hand! All resistance dissolves; I'm a leaf on a
stream being carried along by its current! My ankles turn to rubber
and I'm winding an arm about you to remain standing when I flood!
I'm still staring at the bear as I crest and gasp and cry! My
eyesight's vanishing in the great bear's solid white coat of fur;
I've slipped halfway to the ground...
What the hell's the matter with me? I envision myself in the enclosure
with the bear -- see one of his massive paws tear at my waist,
nearly cut me in two -- see him crush my chest with his mouth
-- see my arms and legs flail as blood spills -- see him mouthing
me -- swallowing me -- and am instantly swept into orgasm, doubled
over with a flurry of contractions! Suddenly crouching on the
ground in blissful agony with you beside me, caressing my face
-- feeling pleasingly shattered, limp, dazed!
seated on the pavement now with you tending to me, I'm attracting
stares. How many people are nearby? They're all a blur…
And then I hear you saying in energetic tones: "She's afraid
of the bear…is facing off with her fear! She was attacked
by a bear when a little girl, in Yellowstone...the attack haunts
her...she can't sleep! She came here to confront the childhood
attack...her therapist suggested it! She's trying to get rid of
the nightmares! Please! She'll be alright…"
good, Ella! Such quick thinking! I'm sitting on the pavement with
legs extended -- trembling, flustered, joyful -- and hasten to
make your words more believable: I emphatically stare at the bear,
flail my hands before my face, gasp, shudder! Interesting how
the terror act bears a distinct resemblance to the symptoms of
la petite mort! Nothing like ascribing different causes
to similar symptoms and throwing people off the scent! Your emotional
decoy, our opportunity to sham, is icing on the cake!
had enough for one day," you say. "Her therapist says
she won't be cured the first time...more visits are required...it's
a long process of coming to terms with trauma. Thanks for your
concern...we're going now. No, I can manage, thank you."
And then you assist poor shattered me to my feet; I remember that
our unfolded parasols were rolling around in the breeze on the
pavement, really quite pretty: a helpful soul handed them to us.
for the bear mauling picture that leapt into my head and sent
me over the edge… All I can do is reiterate that nature's
violent manifestations excite me. Thunderstorms, as I've said,
excite me: I like to stroll onto my terrace during them, get soaked
by the rain as the lightning flashes and thunder cracks; and hurricanes
too, like the one in the Bahamas last year: that relentless rhythm
visible in the steady forceful sway of the palms, the sheets of
rain and tidal swell and necessity of boarding up the windows
of the cottage when the high winds came! Yes, all manner of natural
fury thrills me: the attacked by the bear visualization was simply
more of the same! Any suggestion of being immolated by Mommy Nature,
returned to the primal churn -- cycle of life -- from whence I
came! It's a religious thing! It's the admission that I'm a puny
being surrounded by forces greater than myself that I'll never
understand; plus it's the knowledge that I'm lucky to be healthy
and living in comfort, and that I don't have much time to enjoy
it before death whisks me to who knows where! It's heightened
appreciation of the gift of life!
* * *
DECEMBER 14, 2004
by Angie (from an email to Ella): Yes,
I'm a wee bit miffed at you, Ella! You say all highfalutin'ly,
"Please do not, henceforth, commit me to such things without
consulting me first!" And you say that because? Oh, right:
it's about us not being able to lounge about like lazy slushheads
in the park! Ha, as if lying lethargic on the lawn would've been
preferable to our scrumptiously devious doings at Belinda's party;
preferable to playing under-the-table games during dinner as the
proper Park Avenue people droned on concerning upgrading the security
in their building (pure paranoia), the necessity of informing
some tenants they shouldn't be allowed to throw stuff down the
trash chutes after 10:00 PM because it's noisy (pure petty prissiness),
the fascinating dilemma of whether to place decorative or practical
use pillows on their couches (pure pathetic)!
on! The contrast between the Park Avenue stiffs and us made for
a high ol' time; nor to forget Martin and Marcia were there too!
To see Marcia doing her little French girl lost act when she isn't
even half-fluent made me so proud! Our star pupil's taken to the
playact-for-kicks manner of life like an eagle to the wild blue
yonder! (And playacting-for-kicks is the wild blue yonder,
isn't it? It's the reobtainment of the emotional freedom of movement
that's rightfully ours, the reclamation of multifaceted experience
in a society that seeks to repress it!) 'Twas belly-achingly funny
when she told the dullard duo, Roddington and Flangston, she didn't
speak English (Non Eenglais!) and they were hovering
close to her all night, doing stupid babytalk (As if babytalk
instantly makes a given language comprehensible!) and feeding
her at the buffet, competing for the privilege of spooning beluga
into her mouth! Yeah, they were very comfortable around her, although
self-conscious with every other woman. Why? Language barrier,
that's why! They're terrified of women who can talk! If you ever
want weak-willed dolts clinging to you, then pretend to be foreign!
They'll come running like they're lost in a desert and you're
a carafe of water! They're very desperate to feel manly, and they
can only feel manly around a woman if they think she's dependent
upon them for translation purposes! Language barrier allows them
to persuade themselves a woman's utterly helpless, nor does it
hurt that they feel she'll be unable to ascertain they're idiots
as readily as their countrywomen do!
Marcia's doing the faux Frenchette thing, making the
cutest rolling-of-eyes faces and mocking gesticulations whenever
Roddy and Flangy turn their backs. Martin and you and I are mingling,
albeit staying together so's we can sneak tush grabs in…
What should I cover first? Or, rather, what should I limit myself
to covering? Because, for sure, 'twould be impossible to seek
to tell of all our doings, so thick and fast did they spin into
being to keep us short-attention-spanned pussycats amused! Yes,
I know: I'm thinking aloud here (Or, shall we say, thinking with
the keypad?) when I ought to walk away for a bit and then sit
down fresh, resume as soon as I've selected a direction to go
it's nearly two hours later. Why the interval of absence? 'Tis
because I curled up to catnappy on the couch: this kitty was in
need of some purrilicious R&R!
here's my favorite part of the party: we've just sat down to dinner,
the table's set in showing-off-our-opulence obviousness. The silverware
and china set are, of course, from Southerly's -- came from an
estate in Grenoble, host and hostess are careful to interject;
likewise do they crow concerning the wine, from the cellar of
a retired restaurateur in Brittany. Naturally, the Waterford's
on display; and they just had to place a Tiffany table lamp in
the center of things – quite silly considering there's a
crystal chandelier (Crafted in Venice: where else?) suspended
above. The napkin rings? Again, they absolutely must inform us
of their origin, authentic Colonial, circa eastern Connecticut,
mid eighteenth century. (Papers bear it out: the genealogy of
napkin rings!) The napkins? Linen that Grandmama obtained on a
trip to Nepal sixty years ago, when she was a "free spirit"
(some requisite "tee-hee"s here). Oh, I don't know why
I'm going through the list, detailing the props of their conversation
piece routine (A bit awkwardly rehearsed, what? They certainly
could use some coaching on how to less obviously monopolize the
conversation for the purpose of blabbing of their trinkets!):
maybe it's because, in a twisted and self-contradictory type of
way, I sort of liked the trinkets. After all, if people are going
to make some trinkets the star attraction of a social gathering,
the least they can do is have museum quality stuff! It's a lot
better than those pathetic guys who expect us to gasp in amazement
at all their on-the-forefront-of-development technology crap!
the scene and I'm getting pretty antsy, feeling stifled. Being
cute attorneys at a prestigious firm is a fine thing and it's
why you and I have been invited (and why they allowed me to bring
Marcia and Martin), but our designated role is to be ornaments
like the stuff on the table and, also, to be echoes -- as in repeating
half the stuff they say with a tone of astonishment and intense
interest, and doing it as questions: "What? They're colonial?";
"Your son's an executive at Piper?"; "Your grandmother
lived in Nepal?" So we do the echo thing and are immediately
thought of as being very astute, well-bred, and classy young women
because of it; and we'll be invited to dinner parties again, count
on it, precisely because we do the echo thing as well as it could
possibly be done! And what is it about boring Park Avenue parties,
anyway? Why are we at this one? Why are we deigning to humor host
and hostess, outwardly be the nice lil' inoffensive good girls
they want us to be? Why are we taking the trouble to pretend to
be nothing more than ornaments and echoes so we'll be invited
to more of these gatherings, even though they're insanely tedious?
I'll tell you why: it's because it's a social trophy to add to
our collection! After all, it is something to have slipped
into a Park Avenue exclusivity circle; and it's especially something
to have done it when we think it's nonsense! Yes, it's an indication
of our social dexterity -- a nice lil' "Been there; done
that!" It's also useful in making others rabidly jealous,
as when we casually let it drop at work -- to assorted socially
aspirational wannabe's -- that we wasted a Friday on a tiresome
Park Avenue do! It's like the museum quality dreck on their table:
Park Avenue is authentic hoity-toity, instead of the mere imitation
of it! So, yeah, I want these invitations -- I'll set aside a
Friday for Park Avenue anytime; because, though a bore, it's the
upscale of the upscale! Because, if you think about it, a diamond's
really just a useless rock -- it only has value because people
have chosen to confer value upon it; but I'll take a useless rock
of a diamond anytime! And so I'll take a Park Avenue dinner party
anytime too! And if you really need some perspective: there was
a girl at school from Norman, Oklahoma, daughter of a cop. She
met a boy; he happened to be from a wealthy family. He liked her,
invited her to one of these Park Avenue things. She told of it
at school the next day, completely innocent of it's having the
remotest thing to do with social stratum and potential connections.
Girls crowded near, with a mixture of jealousy and fascination
on their faces. One of the girls said: "It's a triumph for
you!" That girl was me, and I meant it; and I could see from
the gleaming eyes of the others that they knew it was true. That
made quite an impression on me: I've wanted to crack into Park
Avenue ever since! It's stupid, I know -- but it's a useful sort
of stupidly to have; because, again, never forget: what's just
a rock can also be a diamond! And, besides, once one cracks into
Park Avenue, one sees it's no big deal -- that it's just a fantasy
-- that it's false value conferred upon something that's actually
quite ordinary; but few people get to have true perspective like
that! True perspective is worth something: it allows one to understand
what's authentically important, as in having a good time! And,
believe it or not, Stevie shares this mania to crack into higher
social realms: he once told me how he routinely attended crème
de la crème fetes dans la seizieme a Paris. How did
he do it? He rode there on the coattails of some actors from La
Comedie Francaise; and he made his own mark, you may count
on it, by pleasing some of those well bred Parisiennes!
where was I? We're at dinner and being expected to be nothing
but smiles and cutesiness, relegated to the role of ornament and
echo, isn't something that'll suit my mischievous disposition
for long! So I drop my napkin ring on the floor and bend to pick
it up; then I flick it further under the table so's to have an
excuse to crawl under to retrieve it and sneak a reach up your
* * *
SEPTEMBER 27, 2004
by Ella (from an email to Angie):
alone in Central Park in the storm, bathed in light streaming
through the glass doors in that niche near the Egyptian exhibit,
between the walls of ivy? My dress is bunched at my neck, and
I'm stark naked below? You're hard facing me like a fox snuffling
in a burrow for prey? We're absolutely out in the open, for anyone
to see should they come astrolling along the north walls of the
Metropolitan Museum? All true and, at the same time, the likelihood
of discovery is very small! How many people go for strolls in
Central Park after midnight during storms? Apparently, next to
none. Remember the riddle Stevie once posed for us? He said: "A
friend and I once walked outside nonstop for over two hours after
three in the morning in the center of Manhattan without encountering
a soul: how did we do it?" Well, I thought he was having
us on, as did you: it simply isn't possible to stroll about in
our all-night town for two minutes without seeing someone else,
much less for two hours, right? Wrong! Stevie said it happened
because they were in Central Park during a rainstorm: not a single
person was encountered! And so we really weren't anywhere near
to being as reckless as it seemed! Not to suggest, though, that
you and I don't have courage to burn: how many girls would dare
go alone for sex out in the open in Central Park after midnight,
whether aware of the rainstorm factor or not? How many girls would
brave the chance, infinitesimal though it be, that someone would
in this minefield of a world to mar their fun?
that I didn't have an eye cocked for danger, Angie! Out of the
corners of my all-gathering girl's eyes I was surveying the misty
rain obscured near-horizon of the lawn: it comes so natural to
us females, right? -- just like our hearing! Ha, men whisper in
an adjacent room, convinced we can't hear them, and then we --
if we choose to -- astonish them by repeating their conversation
verbatim! Men peer at us from around a corner or look us over
from behind, and then are amazed when we turn to stare straight
at them, indicating we know they've been appraising us! And to
what do we owe these eye and ear skills? Why, first and foremost,
it's to be aware of distress signals sent by our infant offspring
-- an imploring glance for assistance, the slightest alteration
in breathing: it's a legacy of motherhood, regardless of whether
one's a mother or not! Not to mention the necessity of being alert
for danger, as in the -- evolutionally speaking -- not so distant
days when our species still inhabited the savannas and forests
as hunters and gatherers! The games you and I play, I can't stress
it enough, are a means of remaining in touch with these primal
instincts; they're a placing of ourselves in situations where
they continue to be necessary! Unlike many of our coworkers, who
seem to feel that being glued to a television set and regulated
to a state of of stupefied passivity is a fine way to spend an
evening, we prefer to confront life head on and partake of all
the rejuvenating urgency it has to offer! Not for us the hijacking
of our animal alertness, being swindled into forgoing the rich
kaleidoscope of feeling undiluted existence never fails to yield!
As with many things, the truth of the matter of our escapading
is the opposite of what it first seems: in a world as overlayered
and falsified with pseudo-experience -- technology, pop culture
trash, the general protocols of a civilization utterly divorced
from nature -- as ours is, the morally responsible way to behave
is nonstop pranking, fun wherever and whenever one can get it,
the preservation of our young girls' blood-surge! The responsibility
of all people is, first and foremost, to remain human; and remaining
human is done by inundating oneself with fresh surges of emotion,
not by deadening oneself to life via immersion in home
entertainment centers! But I'm wandering from our frolic...
It doesn't take long for me to whirly in my tummy and gasp and
meowl, what with the abundance of stimulation I'm being subjected
to -- the storm alone would be enough to send me spinning into
my whirlpool! I'm tightening my thighs about your head, squeezing,
twisting sideways left and right to prolong the inner clasp and
caress of my flood! We're entangled on the slick wet cold concrete
amongst the tattered streamers of ivy, scattered leaves, and I'm
gazing straight up the wall of glass above the doors and the bright
light's illuminating us in the swirling mist and suddenly I'm
picturing us on my white tiled bathroom floor with the shower
water turned up high and hot, swirling steam every which where!
Hell, I may have actually believed we were in my bathroom for
a few moments, so delightedly topsy-turvy was I with abundance
of mind-blurring sensation!
we're lying side by side, gazing up the glass wall into the lightning
flickers and driving rain, affecting fear -- indulging in mock
shouts of shock -- with every crack of thunder: what fun to squeal
and twist, clasp one another tight, in pretend distress!
a way, the doorway niche where we were resembled a mausoleum --
there was the white concrete, the marble on the other side of
the glass doors, the ivy festooned walls on both sides: I recall
noting the resemblance -- recall I was immediately flung into
a recollection of my college graduation gift cemetery adventures.
reference to death amidst our celebration of life -- my usual
fascination with contrast! My
graduation gift, as you know, was Paris for the summer semester,
the Sorbonne's intensive French program. (Just like my parents
to intermingle more education with a graduation gift! But I'd
had some French in high school and had always wanted to actually
learn it, instead of merely knowing it in a dabbling sort of way.
I don't do things in a dabbling sort of way: my achievement oriented
Catholic upbringing won't permit it!) My adventure? Three words:
Cemetiere du Montparnasse! I was residing almost across the street
from the cemetery, in old servants quarters (arranged through
a friend of the family) at the top of a building situated on a
small street, Rue Champagne de Premiere, that angled off of Boulevard
* * *
DECEMBER 11, 2003
by Ella (from an email to Angie): And
so, Sweetest, the holidays have crept up and pounced upon us again:
it's nearly impossible to get a cab of a morning and we have no
choice but to endure the subway every day on our way to work!
Yuck! I loathe jostling with the shopping- and see-the-sights-mad
tourists for a narrow place to stand clinging to a rail; nor to
forget the occasional opportunistic guy who makes use of the cramped
quarters to rub up against my ass! (God only knows why: I mean,
what, if anything, of the true texture of my ass can a guy sense
through the thickness of a heavy winter coat?) And, of course,
a subway ride always does atrocious things to my hair (and especially
when I just washed it)!
it's the holidayish time of year again: the big snowflake's suspended
over 57th; the windows up and down 5th Avenue are dressed; the
firm's a place of frenzy and we're in a state of scamper (that's
the word for it!) day and night, spending seventy plus hours a
week at the place to see the year's end financial shenanigans
through! Our only break from the insanity, means of relieving
the tension... Well, 'twas a joy to sneak in a stroll over to
5th while going to pick up the take out and mingle with the gawking-at-the-window-displays
crowds. As for the displays: the fashion industry product placement
ones are all right; but I'm going to see that stuff in the stores
anyway and don't need to see it masquerading as holiday cheer.
As for the cutesy artsy stuff assembled by deluded dolts who thinks
they're the modern equivalent of Michelangelo: forget that garbage!
What I really like are the Rockwellesque ones showing quaint rural
scenes -- small town squares, churches, sleighs, fallow fields,
iced over ponds used as skating rinks, bonfire picnics in the
middle of the woods: like most lifelong New Yorkers, I stare at
such scenes as I might stare at photos of a civilization on Mars.
so it was only natural that, as we were jockeying for viewing
room in front of a small town America depiction window (with all
the wholesome smiles on the faces of the wax figurines), I chose
that moment to reach through the front of your coat and grasp
your naked thigh (Such a burst of tingles surged through me at
first touch of your satiny skin!) and ease my hand upwards towards
your moisture. Yes, tourists to the left and right and back and
front and us huddled close and me diddling you under cover of
our flowing furs; nor did it take long for you to follow suit!
Ha ha, did the big guy in the motorcycle jacket think he suspected
something? Well, let him suspect away, for all the good it'll
do him! We huddle closer: the thick fur of our coats combines
to veil the entrance points of our arms, all is concealed! Everyone's
packed pretty tight: no way for others to confirm the two of us
are smushed (Is "smushed" a word?) together for the
purpose of engaging in mutual twatsie tickling! Yes, I so love
being draped in a long mink and scarves galore and fluffy hat
in winter without wearing much underneath! Of course, silk thigh
highs are essential; but, aside from them... Christ, was it fun
changing into skimpy nighties in your office and folding our suits
up and stuffing them in our totes (temporary liberation!) and
donning the coats and hitting the sidewalk! I've said it before
and I'll say it again: nothing beats hiding slut clothing underneath
a long flowing fur and strolling about in winter's chill as the
cold slides up ones legs and brings about goose bumps and gets
the bottom half of one's body shivering as the top half's crispy
warm! Something about the contrast of warm and cold... It goes
straight to my fertile crescent! My thighs might be freezing,
but that sure doesn't stop quimmy-kins from boiling over with
heat! Isn't it funny that I've seldom needed a skilled girl finger
more than when part of me's shivering with cold? On the other
hand, I am a contradictory wench!
you were greasing my fingers real good, weren't cha, whore? What
a priceless playmate you are! I was so going nuts in my sex nerves
(Not having ventured outside the firm or dared to play within
the firm for twenty-two hours!) that the sensation of your wet
heat making my fingers slippery was enough, in and of itself,
to have me gasping against your shoulder and smothering my cry
by burying my mouth in and biting the fur! (Now, that
could've given the game away; but not too blatantly: I figure
anyone knowledgeable enough to figure out I was in the throes
of release would be the sort of person who'd take it stride, saying
to themselves with a laugh: "Oh, yeah, sure your face is
of Angie's response: Yes,
let's hear it for the pesky winter breezes that delight in flinging
themselves up the bottom of one's coat and betwixt one's pantyless
thighs and setting nu-nu on fire! And winter's cold is a sort
of fire, isn't it? It passes over one's delicate skin like claws,
brings about flarings of the nerves, shivering, twinges; and then
one's blood rushes to the place where the cold's attacking and
heats things up from inside! So yes, Dollface, I was plenty heated
before you touched me with your magic fingers; and how I fell
into one of those wonderful states of gasping inner stillness
when you did! (Sort of like a version of having a raging thirst
quenched: the cool flow of water upon a parched tongue.) But,
unlike yourself, I wasn't about to gush in something like sixty
seconds flat (I mean, what a brat you are, coming so fast; plus
informing me it wasn't my fingers that did the trick, but the
sensation of touching me! Oh, well, I guess a girl ought not to
be picky as to how she gets her girlfriend off, just as long as
she does! Then again, we didn't have time to bring you to a second
coming, now did we?; so you ought to have postponed climax a bit
so's to make it more complete! Because how in the hell can a quick
gush like yours capture much of the tension inside one and dispel
it? How can a quick coming untie all of one's knots?)
so you basically came at first touch of me; you flung your face
into my coat and bit the fur, and I was saying: "That's it,
Honey, warm your face up: we don't need you getting all frostbitten
and a priceless complexion ruined!" -- saying it rather loudly
and theatrically so's to draw more stares our way; and then looking
that one woman straight in the eye and adding: "My friend's
skin is extremely sensitive to the cold!" And she's
looking at me and then at you and back at me and has that "Something's
amiss here, but I can't put my finger on it." look; and all
the while, our fingers were in each other! Ha ha ha!
I wanted a bit more privacy -- I wanted a more thorough orgasm
than the one you'd had; and so I yanked you away from that window,
intending to drag you to the French bookstore. But the sensation
of your finger (only one finger!) inside me as we were walking...
Ha ha, I never realized before how much the natural motion of
walking dovetails so nicely with an inserted finger; and damn
if I didn't violate all of my principles right then and there,
and come a lot sooner than would've been required to dispel a
tenth of the surge in my blood! (Ha, and I was presuming to lecture
you about such things!) But, all the same, 'twas very cute to
be flinging my face into the fur of your coat right there on the
open sidewalk and biting it as my tummy turned inside out!
naturally, I was hungry for more; but did we have the time? No!
We only had time (What? Ten measly minutes?) to race back to 7th
to pick up the takeout before being expected back!
I'm getting all scrambled up, Dearest, (Doubtless because we really
absolutely don't have the time to be writing these things now
and shouldn't be doing it, what with every blasted attorney more
senior than us running us ragged!) and must sign off!
again (an excerpt of her reply to the above): You
say I came prematurely? Well, how's a slut to regulate such things?
You think I even want to be able to turn off the tap? Besides,
it's a good thing we flooded as fast as we did! Did we have time
for anything else? Would it have been better not to orgasm at
all? I don't think so! What it really means is that we're highly
adapable tramps who perform sexually according to the circumstances!
And, sure, I'm plenty itchy and frustrated -- I'm plenty feeling
teased and unsatisfied and tormented by our brief taste of fun;
but, better that than not to have had any taste of fun at all!
no, I don't have time to write this, either -- I'm too auto-focused
on the stuff on my desk to even be able to think I'm making sense
right now! Damn holidays!
winds it up:
Yeah, we're being bad girls! We keep coming back to our Email
World despite the fact we have oodles of work to do and won't
see natural light again until -- what? -- way into tomorrow afternoon!
Or are we being bad girls? If we didn't have this secure line
of communication (Thank God for remote access to personal email
accounts!), we'd be feeling even more abused and run ragged and
probably wouldn't be as productive!
just think about Tuesday the 23rd, when we'll be on our way to
winter wonderland and skiing on This
Mountain! Just think about the task we've set for
ourselves: how to muffdive on a chairlift without (1) being prevented
by the cold from enjoying it, (2) being detected, and (3) dropping
our poles on the skiers below! Yes, 'tis certainly a problem that
needs to be solved by someone, and the two of us are just the
trollops to do it!
* * *
SEPTEMBER 25, 2003
by Steven (from an email to Angie & Ella): So
an hour ago I pop into Avenue A Sushi for a quick protean fix;
my mind's mostly on my meeting with the redhead I told you about:
Brianna Ray, remember? The girl with pure Southern sugar for an
accent? -- nearly six feet high, with the most perfect legs it's
possible for a female to have? And always with the sexy librarian
in glasses thing going on? Wool dresses with slits up the side?
White blouses worn with lacy gray brassieres? Yes, I pop in for
a quick bite and am thinking of Bri and the spanking I'm going
to give her and how she'll be giggling her head off; and what
happens? Two clowns at an adjacent table are doing their best
to get tragic because one of them's turning thirty tomorrow!
thirty? So fucking what? When I turned thirty I was barely
aware of it! It was sort of an afterthought kind of thing, as
in: "Oh, I'm thirty now. Hmmmm... I guess I'm supposed to
get dramatic and wail about getting old and consign my youth to
irrecoverable oblivion; but, hey, I really don't feel any different,
and it's really just a lot of imaginary horseshit dreamed up by
marketing parasites to convince suckers they're obliged to stop
having fun and get responsible now and subscribe to some
stupid lifestyle magazines and buy half the worthless trash that's
advertised in the said magazines and get boring jobs to make the
payments!" Well, something like that... Basically, I was
far too busy chasing ass and playing pranks and getting in adventures
as a cab driver to bother to notice having turned thirty.
mean, I'll never understand people like the twits at that table!
How can a person be so lacking in liveliness as to stoop to whining
and getting depressed about some purely arbitrary number of years
they've happened to be on this earth? The poor unfortunate who's
turning thirty is saying stuff like: "It'll never be the
same again," "The dreaded day is here," and "Too
bad I didn't die young." The other one's trotting out all
the sympathy he can muster, as if the clown's lost his mother:
"It's only bad for the first half year; after that, you're
used to not being in your carefree twenties. It really isn't all
that bad knowing you've got to knuckle down and start planning
for your retirement once you actually start doing it. Anyway,
I'm here for you."
if suckers like those two wish to consign fun to the past simply
on account of having drawn breath for thirty years, then that's
their problem! And, furthermore: if they're so willing to let
go of their, as they put it, "carefree twenties," then
I strongly suspect they never knew how to have fun in the first
place and were always boring imbeciles that no well-balanced person
would want anything to do with! And who the hell says having fun
and making a decent living and accumulating investment income
and buying an apartment are incompatible, anyway? Fun renews like
nothing else! Think I'm going to forgo gratuitous Fuck 'Em &
Chuck 'Em sex adventures simply because I'm thirty-seven? Think
I'm no longer going to go rent a car for the express purpose of
treating it like an ATV and beating the fucking shit out of it?
Think I'm no longer going to remove security strips from merchandise
and slip the strips in the coat pockets of assholes so I can have
a laugh when they trip the alarm and end up being detained? Think
I'm going to stop dressing up in tattered clothes, with axle grease
smeared all over, and go to a video game arcade in Times Square
and pretend to be a lunatic? Think I'm no longer going to slather
Missy's ass with mashed cherries and lick them off while praising
the shit out of her muscle tone and complexion? Why the fuck would
I stop doing any of it?
I'm almost thirty-eight: am I going to allow such a thing to prevent
me from seeing sweet Bri tonight? Am I going to say to myself:
"Well, hey, I can't see Bri after all, because I'm in my
thirties! I can't bind her to the bed with silk scarves and tickle
her with a feather duster because I'm in my thirties! I can't
flip her on her belly later and play the ass mauling game because
I'm in my thirties! I can't spank her like she likes and send
her into peals of sexy laughter because I'm in my thirties! I
can't take her out for a rowboat ride in the park the next day
and dip my fingers in her honey on the lake because I'm in my
thirties!" Yeah, right, I'm really going to tell myself that
hell with all life-deprived losers who use turning thirty as an
excuse to justify being cowardly! Because that's what it really
comes down to: they've been waiting to have a rationale
for why they're terrified of doing a single thing that involves
spontaneity and has an unpredictable outcome!
But enough of those twits! Time to go get some white roses at
the Korean store and catch a cab and turn up at Bri's apartment
in the role of perfect gentleman. I mean, she's Southern, right?
She's big on the courtliness stuff and dating protocol and good
manners and, as you well know, I have the greatest respect for
that! Just like I have the greatest respect for her succulent
ass that I'll soon be grabbing as I shove my tongue down her throat!
And the greatest respect for the way in which she'll pull me to
the floor and squirm and breathe deeply and coo, "I want
cha tuh fuck the dickahns outa mah!"
* * *
JULY 18, 2003
by Ella (from an email to Angie): What's
gotten into us, anyway? Are we completely mad? Pretending to be
hookers in the lobby of the Marriott during lunch hour, and only
stopping short of collecting the cash! My, but that Chuck guy
was really ready to be bled dry for a grab at my ass -- ha ha
ha! I really ought to go into the trade! Well, of course I won't,
already having a good living in the law-abiding, and comparatively
pain in the ass free, segment of society; but -- God! How I absolutely
adore living out that fantasy! Of course, usually it's all a game
in the safety of my apartment and the guy knows full well I'm
an oh-so-respectable girl: to do sexy flip-turns and sidle-ups
and eye-flutters and tongue-rolls and fast talking date-chat in
the Marriott's lobby takes it to a whole new level! And only a
few blocks from work! Damn girl, the whole thing made my quimmy
so hot so fast! And now I'm afraid it might become addictive and
that I'll be thirsting to do it every lunch hour! Well, you've
got to stop me! I mean, a taste or two of it, fine; but I'm a
law-abiding girlie -- yes, Ma'am! -- and don't really want to
know what a night in jail's like: I'm not sure it would agree
with my complexion!
hey, as long as one refuses the money and doesn't put out, it's
all right, right? Not that the firm would look kindly upon two
of it's most promising second-year's pretending to be rent-a-girls!
Ha ha, but that's part of the kick, right? One moment we're safe
in our offices, the next were flashing ass at leering out-of-towners
who completely believe we're for sale! Too cute!
of Angie's reply:
Well, it's simply a logical progression from our flashing of the
tourists -- giving 'em panty and tit shots galore -- at Sardi's
game; and who knows where this logical progression will end? It's
as if it has a life all it's own, separate from us, right? And,
honey, you know I won't be held accountable if I do end
up collecting the cash sometime, and giving it a for real turn
in actuality! Ha! It's so enthralling to feel as if one's on a
path to perdition, being buoyed along by forces beyond one's control!
Ooooo! A turn on, indeed! Yes, I think I'm going to savor that
thought! I think I'm going to finger probe my hot wet flower while
dwelling upon my downfall! Yummy-yum!
I'm so excited now on account of having faked peddling my ass
earlier, that... Well, we've just got to repeat the fun tomorrow!
Are ya game, girl? Ha ha ha! How's that for me exerting a restraining
influence? How's that for me stopping you?
I stand and stretch my arms towards the ceiling while thinking
of the eye-gropes those guys gave us and how they were reaching
for their wallets and -- I kid you not -- it's as if I'm about
to come without even touching myself! How the tingles of lust
set all my taut muscles afire! And... I mean, do you really believe
I'm going to forgo this pleasure! Ha! You know me better than
that! Listen: I've already packed my tote bag with the goodies
that I'm going to change into in the ladies' at the Marriott tomorrow!
Off will come my respectable corporate suit (conservative navy,
pure Bergdorf's patented stylish restraint), on will go the overt
slut number of a pink one-piece from the punk chic place (What's
its name? PinkPutain? SlutaRama? FetishFrolic? Oh, I forget!)
on St. Marks! Tight as stockings, this dress is -- hugs me so
snugly it's as if it's been painted on! The hemline very high,
of course, and irregular: seems some of it goes above where the
curvature of my ass begins! Hmmm... And purple fishnets, I think;
plus pink heels. And I'd love to do a full out make up number,
do my eyes up real cattish: too bad no time for that! I mean,
I might be capable of doing a presentable job inside of fifteen
minutes (Doubtless with some smudgies and clumsy lines: who cares?
It would lend an appealing trashy look and add to the credibility
of yours truly as slut for sale!); but what happens when I wipe
it all off with baby oil and have to do some touch ups for work
again? Not enough time!
the point is, Dearest: I'm all-senses-afire to have another go
at our prostitute pretense game! My pink dressy's packed -- I
have colorful condoms to fish out of my purse and wave about and
really tease with! Yes, and an ass that's burning to flash its
immaculate globes at some poor out-of-towner, get him begging
to fork over lots of green for the privilege of grabbing! Damn!
I love the fine art of seduction in all its forms! Whether it
be running my tongue about my lips while asking a bus driver what's
the stop for Saks and getting his eyes to widen; or dropping my
keys on the sidewalk so's I must needs bend over to retrieve them
and cause my skirt to ride up my thighs because I know a guy's
staring from behind; and then -- ha ha! -- I do a cute lil' glance
and sly smile back at him while still bent over and get him to
quiver! And chest thrusts while innocently asking some boy at
the bank whether the ATM machines are working; and... Well, I
go through the whole day licking lips, flashing ass, thrusting
out tits, brightening eyes, playing with my hair so's to thrill
to the tune of the nerve shocks in males these things inspire!
Yes, subtle little mind and nerve fucks every hour: I can't get
enough of them! And so pretending to be a hooker in the Marriott
lobby is simply a logical extension (I said that, right?); and,
Ella Honey, you'd best believe I'm going to continue to do it,
and that you're going to do it too! (Because, ha ha, I know only
too well ya sure want to!)
* * *
MAY 14, 2003
by Ella: Yup,
we've been shamefully neglectful of our Weblog. First, we pester
RS to give us one (Hit him with all the girlie arsenal at our
disposal, we did: nagged, sulked, pouted -- did the icy detachment,
aloof bitch, thing: coldly gazed upon him with unresponsive eyes,
only spoke in toneless voices, deprived him of all emotional interplay -- did the chatting animatedly amongst ourselves while ignoring
him thing; plus the nicer girlie things: put on seamed fishnets
and scarlet skirts with our tits half spilling out and sat beside
him on the couch and tongued his ears while cooing, "Please,
may we have a Weblog?" "Yeah, I'll get around to it,"
he'd lazily say, blowing us off. And so we'd blow up and stomp
out the door! Such a stubborn bastard, RS!) So, anyway, we keep
up a united front and bedevil RS without mercy from all possible
angles and he finally relents (of course, he had to!);
then, in the flush of first enthusiasm, we do an entry a week
for five weeks -- only to (ha ha!) completely laze off about it
because we're too busy having adventures to write about them!
So now, what happens? RS starts pestering us for updates! Well,
we brought it on ourselves, I must admit! But, on the other hand,
as brattish frivolous females, we reserve the right to be... Well,
It's sort of like finally getting the ankle length silver fox
I'd been eye-ogling at Bergdorf's for half the winter: I got it,
wore it for nine days straight, and now the thing strikes me as
being a trifle too heavy for my slender frame to have to carry
around! I mean, it's got triple layered silk lining plus all that
fur and is so long: wearing it's like doing manual labor! I thirsted
for it, obtained it, and now... Well, it mostly sits in the closet,
only coming out so's I can drape it in my lap at the theater so's
a date can diddle me under it during the performance and no one'll
know; and it's also good for cuddles in the park, of course; and
for... Well, hell, the coat's alright, as is this Weblog: it's
just that I hate being anything's slave! And a new toy
can't remain new forever: novelty rapidly wears off! So we'll
come and go as we please, right Dollface? RS will just have to
realize that he gave this Weblog to us and that it therefore belongs
to us and that it's therefore also up to us to update when and
if it pleases us to do so!
finishes: Absolutely right: when and if it pleases
us to do so, and that's that!
as long as I'm here, I might as well play some; and so I ask:
there anything in the whole wide world that surpasses the thrill
of love in a doorway on a spring afternoon, spontaneous fashion,
in our sweet city? I mean, sure, many things equal it; but surpass?
Not a chance, you Wild Girl you!
Friday, after we strolled up 5th Avenue after work to 79th...
Well, we could've hit the park and relaxed in the shade on Cedar
Hill and probably would've done so, were it not for Belinda's
dinner party... Blasted dinner party! Which brings an aside to
mind: please do not, henceforth, commit me to such things without
consulting with me first! I mean, on a Friday, right after work!
Think I want to be bothered with more scheduling in my life right
after I've had a whole week of it at the office? No, my dearest,
a thousand times no! I mean, never mind that we had ourselves
some surreptitious pussycat fun in the midst of those class conscious
dolts! Never mind that Marcia finally and irrevocably (as if we
ever had a doubt!) confirmed herself as being every bit as slutilicious
a girl as a girl could possibly be; and that Martin more than
distinguished himself in the under-tablecloth-games department;
and that... Oh, 'twas indeed a riot at the dining table! But,
still, that doesn't excuse the fact you robbed us of some mindless
loll about in the park, as the weekend beckoned! Christ! Us there
right next to Cedar Hill on a sunny day and, instead of availing
ourselves of it, we've got to scamper eastward to your place for
some rapid fire freshening up before scrambling to get to Belinda's
by eight-thirty, only an hour late! But... Oh, hell! What am I
complaining about? We had as fine a Friday as we've ever had,
even if being on the runaround all the time! Ha! Please excuse
me, Girlfriend! I'm really bouncing about in my head!
was I? Oh, yes! All about doorway fun... We couldn't go to the
park and were between Lex and 3rd on -- what street was that?
85th? -- instead, and walking fast and... Well, it was so beautiful,
when the impulse came upon us! And where did it come from, anyway?
From the realm of magic and miracles, that's where! I think it
hit me... Well, your skirt suddenly swished in the breeze and
the sun caught it and its purple swished in my eyes and, along
with that swish, was an electric surge in my nerves; and I sought
your eyes straightaway and you were already looking at me with
sweetness brimming; and our hands clasped, fingers automatically
intertwined -- we were suddenly scampering up those steps giggling,
in no time between the outer and inner doors of that building;
and your lips were insistent against mine -- our tongues were
entangled in mutual darting; I was dissolving right out from the
feel of my legs! God, Honey! What a beast you are! What a pretty
little insistent hungering kitty beast!
after you'd made me radiant (as you always do!), and just as we
were about to return to the sidewalk... Ha ha, priceless when
you buzzed half the intercoms, waited for people to answer, and
yelled, "My girlfriend's a slut!" Well, of course it was sort
of a silly guy-thing to do! Pretty immature! Never mind that I
was dying of laughter! And the workout that all that laughter
gave my stomach, combined with the workout you'd already given
me... Well, Honey, it was like I was going to come again! Yup,
like I was going to come again from laughing so hard! Dying of
laughter? Ha ha! La petite mort of laughter!
* * *
APRIL 9, 2003
by Angie (from an email to Ella): Yes,
Dollface, this being shut up in my office all day, deprived of
any recreation whatsoever, has put me in a rantish mood! Here
know how Midge has that large picture of her adorable toy collie
on her desk? Her dog Rumples, right? Well, just now a couple of
those bankruptcy slobs came shuffling close to my door, and paused -- some stupid joking they were indulging in. Know what they said?
Something to the effect that if Midge wasn't so hung up on her
dog they might have a shot at her! Slobbery guffaws followed -- you know the crude burbling laughter of morons! And then one of
them -- that fat bad dresser who always smells of not washing
much (I forget his name, doesn't matter) -- says that she named
him Rumples because she likes to Rumba with him! Oh, it makes
me so mad! -- that kind of stupid, crude, self-satisfied idiocy!
Some pathetic losers who resort to that garbage because they can't
get any ass! And saying such things about Midge! -- such a cute,
spirited, blithe-dispositioned sweetie! Those worthless louts
who wouldn't be capable of stimulating a female if their lives
depended on it! I mean, what's this world coming to? A truly nice
girl can't have a pet without stupid shits suggesting she has
sexual commerce with it!
Which brings me to another thing: early this morning, before you
arrived (because I had to be here way early on account of those
blasted calls that probably won't happen) Nigel and Ralph and
some other goof poked their heads in my door and asked if I'd
like to go out for a smoke. Well, you know nic fit me! I said,
well yes, all right. I mean, I barely know them -- they've always
seemed like harmless good-natured things who won't last long here.
So what the hell, right? -- I'm a sociable gal, and it never hurts
to get to know others better and perhaps even hear an amusing
thing or two about the newbie camp; and, of course, I can always
use a smoke.
So I go outside with them in good faith, all trusting and cheerful
and with my mind made up to be nice (after all, they do work here),
and what happens? Instead of talking to me they stand there gawking! -- at first looking embarrassed and unsure what to do with themselves,
as if they've been chased onto a stage and are worried about looking
inept before the audience. But it gets worse: soon they adjust
to this being on stage thing and are glancing at the other guys
who are outside; and then they -- these three no-balls juveniles -- are puffing themselves up and trading stupid looks of triumph!
And then I realize just what sort of stage they're on: they're
on the "We're with a hot girl and you're not!" stage! -- as if
the stupid fact that I'm having a smoke with them means I'm also
willing to suck them off and spread my legs! Yuuck! Such clowns
are a menace! -- them and their pathetic self-preening before
an imaginary mirror! Yes, all they want to do is live in the mirror
that materializes when they're with a cute girl, the girl herself
be damned! Standing there acting like I belong to them simply
because I agreed to feed my nicotine habit in their company! -- turning all smug and self-important and idiotic when not a caress
has been exchanged between us, and never will be!
Well, a respectable girl never stands for such treatment, does
she? This one sure doesn't! I saw George -- the nice married guy -- by himself over by the flowers, and hightailed it over! Yes,
George: thank God for him! I was able to leave the creeps high
and dry, and they dared not follow! George is so affable! -- a
nice unpretentious guy who has nothing to prove and far better
things to do than act weird because he's with a hottie! Plus he
let me in on an interesting development in the [____] deal that
I'll tell you about later…
As for the creeps… Well, they were getting all wounded puppy dog
in the distance -- I caught an inadvertent glimpse of them when
turning to come back up with George and one of them had the gall
to dart me a look of reproach -- some "What did we do to deserve
this?" type weepy eyed crap! And what infuriates me the most is
that I didn't read them accurately enough in advance to realize
they were such dolts!
believe it, Honey, I sure wish I was able to come to you and dispense
joy with my thirsty lil' tongue snake -- it would sure be a far
more constructive use of my time! I'm literally in prison now!
I'm a wildcat, itching to romp, who's been shut in a cage! -- pacing back and forth, growling discontentedly, hissing and spitting!
I mean, don't I have better things to do than recall a silly lapse
of judgment and some clowns I was stuck with for a bit?
* * *
MARCH 19, 2003
by Ella (from an email to Marcia): Well,
of course I masturbate before hitting the town! Is there a tramp
in this city who doesn't? I mean, how else acquire that extra
glow? I always want to be surrounded by an aura of lust hunger
and have the males sniffing at me like dogs! I always want to
have that sexed up look in my eyes! And if the other girls are
doing it and I'm not, then where does that leave me? I mean, there's
a lot of competition out there! Sure, I'm a nicely proportioned
(if I say so myself!) size four and the guys reliably whip their
heads about on the sidewalk and drink me up with their eyes; but
I'm hardly the only one, and I'd be an idiot to think otherwise!
A facial steam bath above the sink, with the hot water turned
on high, for a few minutes after applying make up does wonders,
no doubt about it: the hot moisture adds additional depth, an
inner glow quality, to a girl's complexion. It's a good trick
to know and I always make use of it; but it still falls short
of the inner steam bath of masturbation! A nice spead-legged session
on the couch, that's the trick for bringing the sultry slut look
into my eyes! -- the trick to endowing my body with that electric
sex quality guys can't quite put their finger on! Yes, a nice
session on the couch and I'm instantly steeped in the subsurface
currents of desire, magnetic with lust! It's as essential as slipping
into a sleeveless one-piece that shows half my tits and has a
hemline that flutters around the lower boundary of my ass!
guess what else, Marcia honey: masturbation comes in handy for
attracting attention at departmental meetings! The partners are
always sizing us up for involvement on the latest potential windfall
(nice bonus and advancement!) of a deal, right? And at the meetings
they're doing it big time, believe me. And, well, I take my job
as seriously as anyone possibly could and no one's ever going
to tell me I don't do the gruntwork like any other ambitious attorney;
but there's no harm in covering additional bases and working on
the partners on a subconscious level, now is there? So I go to
those meetings fresh from a self-stimulation session: I tend to
think it makes me more of an attention-magnet, and I know I'm
right. And once I have their attention I do my very best to shine
with comments that are fully backed up by research done on LiveEdgar,
Lexus, and good old fashioned law library books! It's good advice,
Marcia, and I recommend you heed it!
(and I'm sure this'll come as no surprise!) I happen to enjoy
sending myself off, apart from the practical applications. There's
nothing quite like knowing one has Mommy Nature's currents of
rapture and renewal at one's disposal: a simple series of finger-flicks,
and: magic! I'm suddenly communing with the wellsprings
* * *
MARCH 11, 2003
by David (from an email to Steven):
So there's this new girl at work, a real tease; but more complex
than the average tease, because she becomes authentically alarmed
whenever a guy responds to her teasing. She comes to work in tight-fitting
knee-length chiffon things that have slits up the sides, nearly
to her ass, and plunging necklines. She wears a great deal of
makeup, including carmine lipstick and black eyeliner. She likes
to sit with one leg slung over the other, such that the slit in
her dress parts and displays the upper leg in all of its symmetrical
glory. She does a flirting pout thing all the time and likes to
thrust out her well-endowed chest. She flicks her hair aplenty
and smiles suggestively while following guys around the office
with her hungering eyes. But, again, the moment a guy responds
to this and steps up to the plate to ask her out, she instantly
becomes a different person: fear creases her features, confusion
splinters the light in her eyes; or she becomes out-and-out annoyed,
sits there shaking with distaste. So what's going on with this
girl? I'll admit to being taken with her, both on account of her
beauty and the atmosphere of hunger that surrounds her, but how
am I to proceed? I've seen too many guys get shot down to imitate
their approach: what should I do?
Sounds like you've got a tease and retreat wench on your hands;
superficially, she might seem to be divided against her interests,
in the sense that she's obviously going to some trouble to advertise
and then only rejecting. But, perhaps, she's (not necessarily
knowingly) trolling for a guy who's a cut above the average where
social skills and perceptiveness are concerned, and is waiting
for the one who knows how to, so to speak, advertise her back
to herself and lead her to understand just how badly she wants
to rut and riot.
you need to go in under her radar -- a direct approach, like that
of those guys who come clean and ask her out, is death. Think
of it as follows: male bower birds need to construct an elaborate
bower to impress a female; male peacocks need to display a fine
tail; with a girl like the one you describe, what you've got to
put on display is a great deal of social tact and discretion.
It's OK (and recommended: all women thrive on such stuff whether
they want to or not) to look her up and down appreciatively, but
you've got to do it with a lot of respect, not clumsily ga-ga -- and tossing in some shyness won't hurt either. It's also OK
to brush against her, as long as you do it "by accident."
Never underestimate the effect of an "accidental" brush
up: an electricity imparting swish of your fingers across a girl's
wrist (watch the surprise, vague astonishment at pleasure, spark
in her eyes) or brief press against her thigh or rub against her
shoulder: such contact will linger in her memory despite herself
and, perhaps, flare into open consciousness of wanting more. What
I'd really recommend is that you find out what she finds funny
and proceed to toss off such stuff and get her to laugh a lot:
women are off-guard when they're laughing and there's no better
time to do an "accidental" brush against her or admiringly and
shyly gaze deep into her eyes and get her to thinking. The trick
is to arrange matters so that she believes she's the one who's
taking the initiative; plus you've got to be alert to what the
signs of her initiative are, because they're likely to be very
subtle -- at least, at first. And, if it seems like a lot of effort…
Well, look at it this way: you've got to go to work anyway -- you spend a lot of time in her proximity anyway -- so why not
seek to bed her? Hell, sometimes the chase is more enthralling
than the catch (not that I've ever been one of those clowns who
turns down a wench once I bring her around and she's offering
herself). And, again, you're at work anyway; so the whole thing
ought to add another dimension to the workplace, and make it a
lot less boring.
go for the doll! I'm, of course, at your disposal for advice along
for me, I always have several suchlike projects going on at once:
even if the dividends in some cases don't pay off, I'm still immersed
in an enthralling swirl of emotion and this is what I really live
for: it's as essential to me as the flow of my blood.
* * *
MARCH 3, 2003
by Ella (from an email to Marcia):
What do I do to calm myself in the midst of a stressful closing
when I only have a few minutes? Well, I feel it'll hardly come
as a surprise: I hightail it to the ladies' and then, when I'm
sure of having it all to myself, I: 1) place myself squarely between
the mirrors in the entry area, the ones above the sinks and makeup
counter on opposite walls, 2) dance myself dizzy for a couple
of minutes, as if I'm on a crowded floor at Webster's, while shaking
my mane of hair, and 3)
lift my skirt to my waist and do an assessment of my hot little
body while exclaiming, "What a shapely pussycat I am! What
a hot-assed trollop I am! What a sex-mad whore I am!" It's
a pep talk, you see -- a spirit lifter -- moral support! It puts
matters in perspective and let's me know why I really work here
and put up with some of the idiocy: for the money, darling -- the outrageous salary! The money that allows me to live in
style, be a pampered pussycat, be endlessly aswim in sex kicks
while maintaining my independence and always being able to call
the shots! Yes, a trollop in attorneyville, that's what I am!
And I don't need to marry a rich guy to live in a nice place or
to have nice things or to go to fun places -- don't need to marry
a rich guy and be restricted in my pursuit of pleasure! Yes, I'm
a quick-witted, brainy, tactful, opportunistic little girl who
also happens to like having my brains fucked out and my muff dived
and my wild imagination engaged each and every day! Therefore:
an attorney -- a corporate attorney, where the money rains
down like it's no tomorrow! -- where it's life on the trickle-down
from all those mega million dollar deals!
welcome to the money, honey! You're a bright sassy little thing,
with an ass afire, and you've chosen the right profession! You'll
not lack for co-conspirators (such as Angie & I!) and you'll
get your pussy plowed aplenty without having to kowtow to any
silly husband who thinks you're all his! Yes, welcome to the firm! -- welcome to Slutdom! -- welcome to Kingdom Cum!
* * *
FEBRUARY 24, 2003
by Angie: So
minx Marcia comes prancing up to my door this morning -- puts
on her little girl mischief look, starts flicking her hair from
both sides of her face to give it that coquettish swish, rolls
her tongue around the full circle of her lips, yanks her skirt
tight against her thighs while wiggling; then she says: "So,
are you going to come punish me for this now? After all, I am
being a presumptuous brat and, as you so graciously pointed out
yesterday, I have no idea with whom I'm dealing! Yes, I'm (how
did you put it?) a pathetically naive little thing who's... Uhh...
Well, I'm fanning flames in you without considering that the flames
I fan in you might just leap out and singe me! That's it, right?
(Her voice acquires a trace of a sarcastic nuance here.)
Yeah, I think that's it! So, of course, you must punish me, right?
You must punish me for daring to tease a woman who's as experienced
as you are in the art of teasing and who put the T in teasing
and wrote the book on teasing! You must wipe this slut's smirk
off my face (an exaggerated smile here) and put me in my
place!" And then she flutters her eyes and scampers off!
dear, you would've laughed to see her! I was certainly laughing -- my tummy was nearly aching with it! And, obviously, this will
be our little game from now on: Marcia will come around and play
at being a tease who's convinced she can bring us under her spell,
and then we'll go hunt her down and show her what happens to naive
little girls who dare to spark desire in mature, all knowing,
women! Very cute and a lot of fun, to say the least!
Well, Marcia's sure learning fast! So bright the little twat is!
Only yesterday, she's teasing us in earnest and feeling very pleased
with herself about it and has no doubt that we'll be her lust-lorn
slaves; so then we disabuse her of this preposterous notion with
some good old fashioned physical punishment (not to mention the
sex -- oh, the sex!); and now, today, she's already turning
the whole thing into a game that we can keep playing! Now that,
my dear, is aptitude! No wonder she reminds us of younger versions
Marcia just did the same thing to me! Poked her head in my door,
and said: "Ma'am, may I interest you in a piece of candy?"
And then she reaches into her mouth, pulls out a peppermint, and -- while bestowing long licks on it -- continues: "The candy's
very good, Ma'am! Sweet, with a touch of tartness, and
bursting with flavor! Somewhat presumptuously tart, it is! Oh,
tart for sure!" And here Marcia flutters the hem of her skirt
and raises it nearly to the tops of her stockings while winking
at me. She then pops the candy back in her mouth, and continues:
"Yes, the candy's pink and white and very tarty -- sort of slut candy it is, eager to melt in just about any mouth!"
And she's there in her (you neglected to mention this!) pink skirt
and white blouse and pink scarf -- rubbing her back against the
wall now, with eyes half shut, and caressing her thighs, going
"Uuuummmm!" And then she opens her eyes and fastens
them upon me, and they're bright with mirth -- and her mouth's
open, so I can see her flipping the peppermint around with her
tongue. And, suppressing a giggle, she says: "Sweet little
tart things often come gift-wrapped in pink and white! Sweet little
sluts dress in candy cane colors and, boy, do they ever know how
to drug a tongue!" Then, no longer able to restrain herself,
she fairly erupts into peals of bright laughter, flashes me with
with a lift of a skirt up to her waist, and goes running down
honey, all I've got to say is: you'd best believe I'm going to
taste the tart's candy today!
Yeah, I forgot to mention the cute pink pleated number of a skimpy
skirt Marcia was wearing, and with the frilly hem; and that semi-transparent
silk blouse; and the pink heels and cream stockings; plus those
ruffled garters: truly a tart piece of peppermint ripe for the
licking! And, my, but what's this world coming to, anyway? I mean,
it's crazy (tee hee!) what a young attorney can get away with
wearing these days in a respectable firm! (So I write while pausing
to do an assessment of the purple one-piece I'm sheathed in: if
I sit just so, with a leg crossed over the other, the hem rides
up high enough to reach the top of my stocking, black silk, and
show a morsel of milk white skin! Well, fancy that happening?
I must be a tramp! And, well, now I think I'll undo the next button
from the top of neckline; that way, if I bend over ever so slightly,
a glimpse of my titties nested in their lacy turquoise half-cups
will be had! Hmmm... Think I'll also bunch my hair in back, do
a Pollyanna ponytail thing, and tie it with a purple ribbon! I
make a good Pollyanna, do I not? I'm a goody-goody girlie and
I'm going to hunt down trollop Marcia and do a real goody-goody
lapping of the honey that seeps from between her soft alabaster
legs and keeps her bush well nourished!)
glory be to the firm's dress code -- I can't praise it enough!
'Tis very enlightened of the highest powers that be (of which
Rumsmann, thank God, isn't a part) to allow us to wear our best
tease-things and make the guys and gals go goo-goo!
* * *
FEBRUARY 18, 2003
by Angie: Oh,
yummy! Our very own Weblog -- about time too! It's not like our
attorney workload allows us to indulge in lengthy email exchanges,
fun though they be, every day! Robert Scott... Well, I had mixed
feelings about him for awhile: he was delighted to publish our
email exchanges in Sliptongue, but said they had to comprise full-blown
episodes: all our brief, non-episodic emails were going to waste!
All our impulses to indulge in a rave or a rant, disconnected
from anything else, were being stimmied! And so, FINALLY, after
months of pestering him and saying we wanted a Weblog to run wild
in, he gives us one! So, yes, he's OK; but, still, what a stubborn
bastard he is for making us wait this long!
by Ella: Well
better late than never, right slut? We could do worse for an editor,
end up with some guy who endlessly quibbles with us concerning
content, gets all worried whenever we glorify the wonderful world
of Slutdom too much! R.S. just says: 'Whatever girls, as long
as I laugh!' Not too restrictive, what? On the other hand, I didn't
like the way he was riding us for a special Valentine's Day email
exchange. We didn't have the time, and that's that and he'll just
have to live with it! Maybe next year -- or, ha ha, maybe not:
we're here to have fun, not be bossed around! We're already bossed
around enough at the firm!
of which: do you believe that old witch, Rumsmann? I was in the
ladies', adjusting my skirt, when she comes in and stops and just
stands there giving me a hostile up and down with those nasty
eyes of hers -- those twin smudges of resentment floating in the
copious folds of her repulsive face! And then she says the length
of my shirt leaves something to be desired -- that the firm seeks
to promote a professional environment, and that I'm undermining
it! Well, naturally the
dour old Queen Victoria double's jealous because she's never owned
a pair of legs any guy could possibly glance at without a grimace
of disgust! The foul old hag, mark my words, was never young! -- never had an ass less than a cow's width wide! And so, of course,
prudishness suits her very well! But, hey, I'm protected: Sturmheld
way outranks her, thank God! So all I had to do was look all confused,
shy, and scared to satisfy the witch's ego, and toss in an apology.
She then does an abrupt huff-off (intended to be some sort of
metaphorical slap) and I, when she's out of sight, lift my skirtie
and umph! my crotch at her, plus flip her double birds! And then
I traipse on out with my skirt fluttering about my ass and get
back to work! And tomorrow... Well, I'm going to wear a skirt
that's a little bit shorter! And Sturmheld sure isn't going to
care, because I know how to get my work done! The old hag can
Angie dear, writing that has definitely put me in a playful mood!
I do, indeed, thank RS for FINALLY giving us this Weblog! I've
no doubt we'll make liberal use of it!
* * *
Frivolity: An Angie & Ella Weblog
© 2003-2008 by Robert Scott Leyse
All rights reserved.
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