Me and My Merchant Marine, Second Date Property Assessment

   Alright, I won't tease you any longer. It's just hard to write quickies about big things, trying to hit the climax - but not prematurely or after interest goes flaccid.
    Thus far, I'd learned that the best AND worst thing about Troy is that he's away for four-month stints, eight months of the year.
    Like me, Troy doesn't want to get married again. I'm overdone with marriage. I don't say "never," so I'll say: I won't ever get married again. And neither of us has had a relationship (i.e., sex) in over a year. (I always like to say "It's been over a year," when it's been, say, twelve years--or feels that way.) Troy's last girlfriend cried after sex and confessed to being a sex-addict. I assured him I'm not addicted; addicts get a lot of something. I'm more prone to do some fist-pumping versus crying afterward.
    Now, for the scenes. It appears they've been censored, perhaps by the NSA or Marie Osmond. (?)

Setting: Troy's cozy cabin in the heart of Magalia --a small, foresty town 20 miles from Chico, house in which he grew up. [He also owns a condo in Chico.] Hours earlier, he'd told Robyn to visit him with a bottle of wine at sundown; he'd show her his property. She's excited. She wants to see his property.

Scene: They drink wine at kitchen counter, chat, flirt. After lengthy build-up, Troy hooks his feet around Robyn's legs to pull her close.  ~~~~Insert kissing and sound effects.~~~~~~~:
Mmm. Quick heavy breaths. Mm. "Can we move to the couch?" She feigns discomfort. Transfer to couch ensues. He adjusts pillows. They position themselves horizontally. "I don't want to smother you...I want you on top." A cooperative lady, she abides. The room heats up, action accelerates, clothing items are deleted..."Aren't you hot in this big shirt?" Concerned for his health, she helps him remove shirt.  Pants are next. Will there be an insertion? Mmm. Maybe. Heavy breaths. Mmm. It's soon, but it's been too long. And it's pretty long, and big...but not moving. Mmm. Wait, did it budge? He subtlety shifts her up and down along his warm, soft body--very respectfully, of course. Will there be an insert-- an inser-- in-- No. His childhood couch. Twisted memories interfere. Their heartrates slow, but the two appear rather invigorated. Cool down proceeds.They get dressed. He says she surprised him by taking charge. "Really? It must have been the wine," she giggles. Or the fact that she just wants an insertion stat. Plus she likes his property.
 
Scene ends when Troy escorts Robyn to her car. He suggests his place in Chico next time, then watches her drive off under a blanket of stars. She flounders her way home, getting lost several times en route. The neighborhood wild dogs bark viciously at her when she turns down the wrong dirt paths. Still, she grins.

Will there be a proper insertion next time? We'll see...Note: I really don't want to keep teasing you, but I write non-fiction.

Ashton Kutcher Interview: IWSG

    

   Founded by the incomparable Alex J. Cavanaugh, the IWSG provides a space to reveal writerly insecurities and offer writerly support. Join us, if you haven't already. All that's required is an insecurity  or two hundred.

 

      BOLD black = Robyn / Bold Red = Ashton

   What better way to feed your ego than to bash the filthy rich and grossly stupid? Ladies and gentleman, let's welcome Ashton Kutcher! Sorority girls squeal wildly. Stagehand Macaulay Culkin darts toward them, pining for some coddling. Instead, he's drop-kicked out the back door by a busty blond who holds up a sign: "Delta Kelso Do Mi Now!"  Ashton struts onto the stage. He points and winks at the busty chick, then tells her, Gimme 12 minutes in a few, Jennifer Mai Holiday! She gives a thumbs-up. Take a seat, Ashton. Robyn gestures towards a fat orange bean bag, as she sits in a desk chair. Rad!  Ashton sinks into the bean bag. Thanks for visiting, I guess. Robyn looks at her watch, as she covers her mouth to hide a yawn. You call yourself an actor, but I get the impression you're not acting. You're just a pretty boy who's a dumb*bleep*. A real life Kelso, with no dimension. 

    Oh man, dude, you're right. I have no Demi son. He chuckles, humored by himself, then stands up. The girls scream frantically. Ashton shouts the words to Michael Jackson's song, "The kid is not my son!" and attempts to moonwalk, then falls flat on his face. But Demi only has daughters with that real actor, her first husband, right? Ashton pushes himself up into a sitting position and shrugs. I don't know dude. Mila and I are having a kid, though. He stands up and pounds his chest. The ladies go wild.  

   They say you're worth about $20 million. That's twenty million per half a brain cell. You should use it, bro. Like remember that time when you tweeted that the firing of football coach Joe Paterno, who kept secrets about child molester Jerry Sandusky, was "in poor taste." Really? How can anyone be that stupid? And to cheat on Demi? And now you're with Mila...well, Robyn holds up a palm, offering Ashton a high-five. He scoffs. Ma'am, you're way old! Jennifer Mai Holiday's red lace panties land at Kutcher's feet. With a wink, he says, a threesome tonight, babe. Mila's always ready. Jealous, Robyn changes the topic. Let's talk about your senior year of high school, when you broke into the school to steal money and got arrested. All you regret about that incident is that your girlfriend dumped you afterwards. Yeah, man. She had big bazongas. You know what I'm sayin? I do know. Robyn looks down at her big, ever drooping bazongas. I'm suddenly reminded of twins. You have a twin brother, Michael, but you never talk about him. He has cerebral palsy and a failing heart. Michael advocates for people with heart ailments, but you don't. You don't use your fame for anything worthy. I do so! Demi and I, we started this sex thing place. You flaming idiot! That was an agency founded to fight child pornography and sexual exploitation.  Ashton nods. See, I like porn! I think It's time for you to leave, jack*bleep*! No problem! Ashton runs to Jennifer Mai Holiday, and the Delta Kelso Do Mi Nows form a line behind her.  

     Thanks for visiting, folks. My sincerest apologies for the lowly level to which today's show sunk. We cut to a  Public Service Announcement about the hazards of marijuana abuse amongst sexually promiscuous stupid pretty boys with half a braincell that they can't find, but enough money to feed Honey Boo Boo's family for two days.
 

Merchant Marine, II: He Got Hot and Bothered. I Watched and Laughed.

   Troy and I were the only customers at House of Bamboo, a quaint Thai eatery in downtown Chico, site of our first date.
    "So tell me about your work on a spy ship," I said, "or would you have to kill me?"
   Troy appeared amused, yet suave. We perused the menus, took sips of ice water, and chatted. 
   "It's not that," he responded. "It's all confidential. I might be leaving in early May, but I don't know for sure, and I don't know where I'm going or what I'll be doing. On one project, we drilled at the bottom of the ocean. I'm sure we were looking for oil, but they didn't tell us."
    I contorted my face, perplexed. "How can you look for something if you don't know what you're looking for?"
   "Oh, I knew."
   The waiter approached, pen in hand, and started with my date.
   "I'll take the chicken curry soup with red curry," he said. "Really, really, spicy if you will."
    After I ordered, Troy emphasized, "Don't skimp on the spice please. I like it really hot." You are, I thought.

 ~~Insert easy discourse, and meal is served~~~

    Troy glanced at me, spooning his soup. "Go ahead. I'm listening."
   "Okay, well,"--I began chewing my chicken-- "long story longer, I came to Chico for a writing job that fell through. Then I went back to social services. It's great, even though" --I sat taller-- "I got punched in the nose by a client last Monday."
   "Wow!" Troy's eyebrows shot up.
   "It's not that bad, really." I feigned modesty. "I didn't get hurt at all, even though the client's twice my size, because I'm pretty tough and quick to respond in crisis and--"
   "Here, try this." Troy fed me a spoonful of soup, after which I quickly finished the rest of my water.
   "Yeah, that's hot! Woo, very spicy," I confirmed, disappointed that his "wow" wasn't in response to my bravado.
   "I like it this way," he said casually, pearls of sweat forming on his brow.
   Troy continued to eat, sweat, and dab his forehead with a white cloth napkin. This cycle repeated itself. Meanwhile, I rambled as if I didn't notice.    
   
   The waiter rushed over. "Are you okay, sir?"
   I couldn't help but laugh. "He's trying to tough it out. The man's gonna finish that soup, if it's that last thing he does. And it might just be the last thing he does."
   With a chuckle, the waiter left to bring a pitcher of water.
   "I'm fine," Troy assured me. "I like it really hot." You are, I thought, and so do I.
   As he subtlety ran the back of his hand across his forehead, I said, "Anyway, I spend all my spare time, if there is such a thing as spare time, what a concept, huh? I spend all of it on writing projects like..."
  
   I finished my meal a couple minutes before Troy proudly displayed his shiny, empty soup bowl.

~~Insert walking and talking~~~

   Troy reached for the door handle and opened my car door. He then leaned in and imparted a warm brief kiss tastefully tinged with romance, seduction and really, really hot spicy Thai red curry soup.
  "Give me a call," I said, as I scooted into the driver's seat.
  "No, you call me. I asked you out, so you make the next call."
  Interesting rule, Joe Cool. "Okay, I will." ...and so HE would...Stay tuned.