Thursday, September 07, 2006

A Roll In The Words

Burned in the lad's memory are the words of John D. MacDonald, who wrote an introduction for Stephen King's first book of short stories. The lad read this at a very young age, when he was getting up every morning and banging out sentences on a manual typewriter his parents gave him as a present. MacDonald named some of the things it takes to be a writer. Cardinal among these, wrote MacDonald, is a love of words. He wrote that you must want to "roll around in them."

Time passed, and so did MacDonald. The lad grew up, loving words every step of the way. Then, once upon a time, he had a brief, fun fling with somebody who showed him how much fun rolling around in the words could be.

On their third date, they were lounging in her apartment eating some food, drinking beer, and staying cool as best they could. The television was on, with the sound off, and the lad's eye was caught by a strange-looking commercial. "Check this out," he said, and the lady laughed with him. The commercial featured images of ladies with their midriffs exposed, and close-ups of lovely bellies with advertising messages written on them in greasepaint.

"At least it's not the one with the talking belly buttons," she said. "That one really disturbs me."

"You know what job I'd like?" said the lad, eyes on the tv screen and all its belly-billboards.

"No. What job would you like?"

"I would like to be the guy on the set of this commercial who knelt down and wrote on the ladies' bellies."

This intrigued her. She arched an eyebrow in mock hilarity and said, "Really now?"

"Totally hot," he confirmed.

The lady thought this over, stood up, and went into the other room. She returned and handed him a personal item. She said, "You're hired."

It was a lipstick.

She raised her shirt to expose her belly. "Go on. What, do you have writer's block?"

"Uh, no! No! Just catching my breath."

He uncapped the lipstick and rotated the ruby red point upward. He leaned in very close and wrote the first message that came to mind. He wrote the words slowly, enjoying the way her skin quivered and sensing her pulse rising. He wrote: Ask me what I'm thinking.

She looked down and read the message upside down. "Okay, what am I thinking?"

This time he wrote slowly, with teasing motions of his lipstick pen - in the space beneath her navel: This is hot.

"Hmmm," she spoke barely above a whisper, "While I don't disagree, the statement is a bit vague. You will need to elaborate."

And elaborate they did, slowly revealing more and more space to be filled with words, ruby red words that teased and provoked until, beaded with moisture and bent in the heat, the words began to run and wear off on skin and clothing and sheets, as the pair took to rolling around and getting altogether slicked up in words.

And they agreed that what they received was much more gratifying than any literary award. No doubt, John MacDonald would agree.

1 comment:

j said...

I give this:
Romance level: 4/5
Hotness level: 5/5
Reality level: 3/5