Thursday, November 17, 2005

True Sex Confessions of People You Don't Know

down her stocking, even as she recognized that she barely knew his name. The old aching flash
for Rex Forbert and his winding kerchief dangling at the portmanteau of her gilded heart: these were the memories that she treasured, the feelings that must in the end lead her to his muscular chin and laughing clavicle -- or his mortal remains. Her cheap mockery of a turgid life, since the loss

of the old homestead, and the final grating noise as Father, aloft in the barn, put paid to the family curse in the only way he could with a pitchfork and a thimbleful of kerosene, must continue through every cheap dive on the waterfront, as she extracted clues from the clueless, blood from the bloodless, and final cuts of the cutlass. There could be no backing away in the dark for her now, now that even her convent ring was pawned. Slowly, with reluctant elegance, she removed her slip.

Captain Trisk Netherwell finally made windfall at the port of Tanganyika sometime in that dustblown, hare-ridden March, as the storm clouds parted their swirling limbs and collapsed on the nor'east verizon. He cursed his compass for a fool as he backed into the farthest loch, sending his mate for'ard to drop a coin in the weathered old meter. Pirates, painted and sinister, lingered


pretentiously at the hagridden docks, their sweltering chains dangling from their tattooed broadsides, their curses musical in the midnight sun. He felt the rumble of lost regret in his ample gut, and drew from his velvet waistcoat the striped, heavy locket scratched elegantly with her initials, and popped it open with a whistling click, then gazed with a rustling sigh at the fuzzy picture she had had made of her... But this was no time for thought.

Felicia Strumpet, student nurse, slipped on her well-turned ankle and patted down her crisp whites even as the flashing bells of the emergency station leapt from the dank walls of Merrywood Hospital, and she knew instantly that another boxload of wounded would be arriving at the coal chute before she had a chance to slip into her flats. "Paging Doctor Strappon, paging Doctor Strappon!" shouted the twin bellboys from their microphone perch, in the coded announcement recognized by every practitioner as a warning of impending medicine. The floors cleared at once, and with them Felicia's conscience.