Author’s note:  I have taken about a week off to do unpacking of my temporary place…seems Wanton Wednesday will be on hiatus for the next month as well.  Regardless, first attempt in a week, so be gentle.

 

“I put a new fantasy in my journal.”

Sam pushed hair out of her face that was almost the same colour as the steaming tea in front of her.  “Do I want to hear this one?”

Clive shrugged.  “Up to you.”

Her brown eyes glared across the table.  “Fantasy?”

Clive nodded, his blonde hair slicked back and almost looking like a helmet.

“Is there a marching band involved?”  She brushed some cookie crumbs off her black blouse before picking up another cookie.

“Nope.”  He pushed his gold rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose and then dabbed the sweat from his brow.

“Clowns?  There must be clowns, right?”

Clive shook his head.  His gray tee shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Knights on horse back?”

“Nope.”

“Pigs?”

“Ewwww.”

“Amputees?”

Clive shook his head and sipped his soda.  He put the leather bound journal in front of him.  “No amputees.”

“Little people?”

He cocked his head.  “Little people?”

Sam sighed, “Midgets would be the politically incorrect term.”

Clive laughed and laughed and laughed some more.  “No, no little people…nor midgets.”

Sam folded her arms over her ample bosom.  “You did say fantasy, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

“So what type…”

“It is just every day regular sex.”

“Really?  No voyeuristic wizards?”

Clive shrugged.  “Thought about that one, but that was so yesterday…in fact, I think I did write that one yesterday.”

Outside lightning flashed as the afternoon skies quickly turned dark.

Sam nodded.  “Yes, I remember that one.  Wilco the Wandering Wizard and his glass of invisibility.”

“I may get that one published.”

Sam wiped her palm across her forehead.  “Best of luck with that.  Are there robots?”

“No robots…although it does involve a vibrator which, in some sense of the concept, might be akin to a robot.”

Sam had no comment on that thought.  “Elves?”

“No elves.”

“Satanic ritual?”

“No, just lots of sensual oral sex and intercourse.”

“What?”

Clive looked at her quizzically.  “You know, intercourse.  When the man puts his penis in the woman’s vagina.”

Sam sipped her tea.  “Yes, I know what intercourse is.”  Her shoulders slumped slightly as the rain fell heavier and, very quickly pulled the humidity from the air.  “So it is just a couple…just two?  Not twenty-eight?”

Clive slipped into a very bad British accent, “Are they too Jewish?”

“What?”

“Monty Python…Live at the Hollywood Bowl where the pope accosts Michelangelo over putting 28 disciples in his painting of the Last Supper.”

Sam stared blankly.

Clive, back to his normal voice, continued, “Just two.”

“Alright then, let’s hear it.”

Clive cleared his throat.  He picked up the book and opened it to the most recent page.  “Queen Yokavhamina looked at the human on the table.  ‘Where did you abduct this one from,’ she asked Doctor Slimnerpuss.  Doctor Slimnerpuss slipped three of his tentacles around the Queen.  ‘From Roswell, your majesty.'”

Sam smacked her forehead with her palm with an audible hollow thud.

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