Catfish

I find free writes helpful as a start to my writing time, because they allow me to silence the inner critic, and to give anything at the front of my mind that might be stressing me out just a few moments of time to express itself before I kick those thoughts off stage and get down to business.

This weeks 10 minute Free Write was pretty darn productive actually. I have no idea where this came from, and I’m convinced the writing itself is crap, but the idea? Intriguing…

As always, spell checked but otherwise raw rough draft:

++ A dress is a formidable weapon. One of fierce defiance if cut low enough or hemmed high enough. One of genteel reproach if proper enough and one of quiet authority if styled just so. I’m not a dress person really, but this was one of those occasions where a woman couldn’t be without one. And a man in disguise? Well there’s no chance of impersonating a woman to catch a certain senator’s eye, convince him to take me back to his room, and take incriminating video with hidden surveillance cameras if I didn’t have just the right dress.

++ The saleswoman was two parts annoyed and ten parts fascinated as she brought me different sizes and styles. I’d worn a few dresses before, looked pretty in them if done up and tucked up properly, but not one like these. Never one sexy enough to try and convince an old straight Republican to hire my services for an evening. The case tonight had well known tastes, and Anthony knew what he was doing when he set these things up, so I could only imagine I was the best for the job that he had on staff.

++ “I think that colors very flattering,” came the sales girls tentative comments. Working on commission must be a real bitch sometimes.

++ “Yeah, colors fine. Don’t think there’s enough tits yet,” I said in snide reply.

++ “Oh! Well, I’ve got another style in this red, but it’s…,” she hesitated and I turned raised eyebrows at her impatiently. I didn’t really have all day to play man-barbie.

++ “Trampy,” she finished fast.

++ “Let’s have it. Trampys just the thing for this john,” I smiled as I said it, watching her face leach white and her jaw fish mouth before she turned and fled towards the back of the store. Yeah I can be petty. But who isn’t a little catty at the prospect of cramming his dick back all night in order to fake interest in a self righteous sack of wrinkles? Anthony owed me for this job.

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Published in: on March 23, 2014 at 10:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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