This morning, after sketching out Got You I started writing two new adult short stories. Maybe they’ll actually end up being flash fiction, or possibly just two really short stories.
Anywho, the first is about a guy and his buddy (and their problem with chicks) and the second is about a guy and his wife. Actually the second is based on a real incident between me and my wife.
Neither are finished far as I see it right now, but it’s a pretty good start for both. I haven’t titled either one. So here ya go. Enjoy.
“Man, why do women always say what they don’t mean and mean what they don’t say?” he asked.
“Hell if I know,” I said. “But I’d be happy if most anybody nowadays said what they meant and meant what they said.”
He thought about it a moment.
“Yeah, you gotta point about that man… but so do I,” he said. “Especially about the chicks.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“Especially about the chicks.”
“Why do you think that is man?” he asked me.
“Just the way they’re made I reckon.” It was the best answer I had.
He was quiet for about twenty seconds or so. He was looking at something far away. To see if it would ever come into focus. Then he fidgeted a little and began talking again, supposedly to me, but still at something far away.
“That won’t go far to solving anything, will it?” he said, sort of wistfully.
I burst out in a short chuckle that struck me as a bit too loud and probably far too honest for what he meant.
“I suspect not much,” I said, quitter, but still laughing inside.
He turned and looked at me kind of quizzically. Then he put his hand out and slapped it around my shoulder.
“Man, you really get this, don’tcha?” he said, sounding wistful again.
“I suspect I do man,” I said. “Suspect I do.”
“Woman, what are you doing?” I asked her with a grunt of sharp pain.
“What do you mean?” she said, once again shifting her head in my lap to better see the movie we were watching on TV.
“I mean I have testicles you know.”
“So?” she said.
“So, every time you shift and move around you crush a testicle with your big ole hard-head.”
“Oh stop!” she said laughingly. But I was being serious.
“Woman,” I said, gesturing with my right hand in a circular motion around my entire lap. “This entire area is testiculated. You know that already. Can you not just lie still for at least one minute?”
“You’re exaggerating,” she said laughing again, and turning her face up to look at me. Her eyes were dark brown and wide, almost black. She was smiling. Her face was pretty. “You’re entire lap is not testiculated.
I wasn’t exaggerating. But I let it go.
Instead I placed my hand over her left breast and let it rest there. She looked at me, then at my hand, then back at me.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. I looked down at her.
“Well, if you’re gonna bust my balls all day then I’m at least gonna cop a feel.”
She studied my face to see if I was being serious or not. I was. Sorta.
Then she laughed, and I laughed. We both went back to watching the film.
It was still uncomfortable for me, but at least we were even.